


Arkansas Woes

by TheDirtyOracle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Come Marking, Daddy Kink, Father/Son Incest, Fluff, John isn't a bad guy, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Praise Kink, Underage - Freeform, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 06:12:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16948515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDirtyOracle/pseuds/TheDirtyOracle
Summary: John Winchester is highly aware his oldest is entering into puberty. He's also aware of his reaction to it, though he can't quite accept it.Dean Winchester is also aware he's going through puberty (the cracking voice gives it away pretty quick), but he's also aware of a newly formed fascination for his father. Where John's own moral code would have him ignoring the attraction, Dean has no such qualms.And Dean Winchester fights for what is his.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrincessDesire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessDesire/gifts).



* * *

If John had been honest with himself, he had seen the signs all year but hadn't thought much of them. He and Dean had always been close, and he figured if questions came up, John would find out about it. He relished the relationship they had, mainly due to his not having had a father growing up, and now they were being raised without a mother. For the most part, Dean had always tried to fit in without being noticed. It was easier to be the screw-up than the smart one, so he purposefully ditched classes to get detention, living up to the image of a rebellious kid being raised by a single father. At home, however, Dean was a different kid, and John knew a large part of that was Sammy. Dean knew more about Sammy’s diet than John did on most days. When John went grocery shopping, Dean was always the one who helped him remember what to buy and what not to buy. He kept up with Sammy’s inoculations, had nimble fingers with a needle and thread, made it easy for John to pick up their records from one school to the nex, and had taken up the de facto “caretaker” position without John ever asking. Occasionally, John got a twitch of guilt, but his mind always went back to the picture that had been hanging in Sammy’s nursery. It was supposed to be a picture of Mary holding her boys, but when John went to take the picture, he saw where Dean was pressed against Mary's very pregnant belly, and took that one instead. In it, Dean's face was pinched up in concentration, and one hand was resting on Mary’s stomach, as though he were already holding his little brother’s hand as he explained the world to him. Dean had been in the bedroom the night of the fire, and instead of running away, he had been trying to unlock Sammy’s crib. That kind of bond was something no one messed with, no matter what. 

With a small chuckle, John recalled a time when seven-year-old Dean had gone shopping with him and had reminded John of how close his boys were. 

_“Dad, Sammy can’t have Fruity Pebbles,” Dean had commented, putting the mayonnaise he'd gotten from another aisle into Dad's hand. He then half climbed into the carriage, took the box out, and began to walk back to the cereal area._

_“He asked for Fruity Pebbles, Dean. I see you feeding them to him all the time. Of course, I’m going to get them for him,” John had responded, admittedly a little short on temper. Who the hell was Dean to be telling him what he couldn’t buy for his son?_

_Dean was already down the aisle, and John was about to call him back, with the box of Fruity Pebbles, when he stopped in front of the bags of cereal and looked for a moment. His eyes lit up as he reached out and carried a large bag of what looked exactly like Fruity Pebbles back to the cart. “You see me feeding him Dyno-Bites. Remember Louisiana?  That smell?" Dean asked, and John's whole body shuddered violently. He'd never known a human being could manufacture mustard gas before that day. He nodded, and Dean continued, "That's what the real stuff does to Sammy. He ain't got a big enough brain to remember not to ask for the real ones because he keeps learnin' new stuff all the time." Dean turned his face up towards John's own and grinned._

_John reached for Dean and grinned back as he pulled him close for a hug. "You know, there are days when I don't know what I'd do without you, kiddo. I'm real proud of you for always bein' there for both Sammy and me." He almost had to wince at the brightness that erupted from within Dean;  his whole body had straightened, and he'd practically glowed like the sun on the chrome of the Impala. When he turned his face up to John's, his eyes were a brilliant shade of mossy green._

John never forgot that shade of green and would argue it became his favorite color.

Now that he was raising them on his own, that relationship was either going to be the strength that held them together or would drastically end them. There was no separation, nowhere to go if you were upset with someone like that. Their teenage years were not the ones he was especially looking forward to. And Dean was almost there, at eleven. so his personality was already showing itself. While they were still Mary's boys, John enjoyed the days when he could prank them. Days that he could prank Dean in the morning were always good days. Which was the situation John found himself in as he was finishing up the hunt. 

Dean rarely slept in, always the first one up, and usually making breakfast before John had opened his eyes. He'd finished his hunt last night, but it had been late by the time he got in, and Dean had still been awake, waiting. It was close to two-thirty in the morning, and John had sent Dean to bed. 

“Sammy, I have pancakes out here,” John called, pouring the fresh batter into a hot pan and listening to the slight sizzle. He counted to five before he heard Sammy’s little boy voice pestering his brother to get up. Seven-year-old Sammy could get Dean to do anything with a flash of his puppy dog eyes. John thought it was hysterical. He was just putting a plate of fresh blueberry pancakes down on the table when both boys shuffled into the kitchen.

“Good morning, boys,” John greeted them, getting low grunts in response. He chuckled as he picked up the batter to pour another pancake into the pan, and he heard Dean opening the refrigerator. 

“Dad, did you get the V8 juice Sammy likes?” John heard the question and was about to answer when the pitch of Dean's voice registered in his head, and his throat went stone dry. He looked at his son with new eyes, actually seeing him, and a wave of want rose in his jeans as all the blood in his body raced between this thighs. Somehow, overnight, his boy had been replaced by an almost young man, with a whiskey-warmed voice that pressed all the wrong buttons on John Winchester’s body.

Before good sense to catch up to him, he drank in the visual of his son, leaning into the refrigerator. The door was propped open with his right arm, and he braced himself against the sink counter with his left hand as he began to look for the small cans that were on the bottom shelf. Dean wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his sleep pants had been John’s hand-me-downs, so they didn’t quite hang right on his smaller frame. This afforded John a blasphemous view of his son’s slender hips and rounded ass on full display, and he licked his lips without realizing it. Thoughts of what his son’s ass would taste like ripped through his brain before logic could catch up to him. Knowing Dean as he did, John knew Dean would try to be quiet, but when he failed, it would be spectacular. John imagined Dean moaning as he rode John’s cock, not to mention what he’d look like on his knees with his mouth wrap-

John shook himself hard, trying to dislodge those thoughts because Dean was his son and what was going through his brain right now had nothing do with fathers and sons. He tried not to think about how long it had been since it had been since he got laid. “We’re going to be packing things up here in the next few days, so anything you have to do to get ready, you should start. Hunt’s almost over, and Bobby will be here in about fifteen hours," John finally found his voice … now if the blood in his body could find its way back to his extremities, he wouldn’t have anything to-

Fuck.

John looked over at Dean, who had stood up from the refrigerator, can of vegetable juice in hand, and was now staring at his father in a way John couldn’t quite place. Until he figured out what Dean was staring at; straight between John’s legs, where his traitorous cock was pulsating in his jeans. Dean’s face wasn’t a mask of disgust, as John thought it should be, but more wonderment and curiosity. Now John knew it was wrong. This was his son. Dean was Mary's son. He was screaming inside his head to say something, anything, to explain what was going on, but his mind was a total blank, which did not help his current predicament. Because the longer his mind went blank, the more images his brain tried to paint that involved Dean wearing considerably less clothing.

“Thanks, Dad,” Dean barely whispered under his breath as he finally broke away from staring at John’s cock, and instead lifted his eyes to meet John’s. And John did not need to see the open lust those green eyes were carrying because this was his son.

“Anything for my boy,” John found himself answering, feeling like he and Dean had an entirely different conversation. He had to get the hell out of here. He had to put some distance between them, or he would never forgive himself.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you an idjit, John?”

Bobby Singer was starin’ at him from across the kitchen table, a bottle of Hunter’s helper in his grasp, and his facial expression was impossible to decipher. John was also finding the bottom of his bottle and couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this buzzed. He and the boys had been staying with Bobby for the previous three months while they waited for another hunt to come up. Both boys were enrolled in school, Sammy in second grade, and Dean fifth. John plundered Bobby’s books for more information on the yellow-eyed demon daily (though he'd never admit he was doing it to avoid running into Dean). The house was warded against things that didn’t even have names, so the boys were safe, and that was the most important thing, despite the strain that tested John daily. The stress of trying to remember not to stare at Dean when he walked around the house in just a pair of jeans, or of having to damn near bite through the meat of his hand to keep from moaning when he jerked off. And John was jerking off a lot. Since that morning in Cotton Grove, he’d been unable to forget the image of Dean’s frame, bent at the hips every time he heard his son’s voice drop down to that whiskey-warmed register. And, as Dean continued through puberty, his voice cracked and dropped frequently, and often hysterically, and he picked up a funk around the same time they'd come to stay here, which was early July. High summer in South Dakota was a hell of a time to learn about deodorant. 

Within the first two weeks of arriving, Dean had come inside after having worked on the Chevelle engine in Bobby’s private garage all day, and the pungent aroma in his wake had caught John’s attention. His first instinct had been to get in the car and drive to a secluded area where he could jerk off until his dick fell off, but that wasn't feasible. Dean was his son. No amount of sexual attraction should change that, but he had to admit, it had. After dinner, John had slipped out of the house and driven to a spot he was familiar with that had a beautiful view of the Big Sioux River. This time of night, the area was mostly empty, and the clearing was nearly invisible to anyone that might pass by.  After he'd parked, he sat behind the wheel and thought about Dean; his body, aroma, and those green eyes that would be the death of John Winchester. Thoughts of his eyes eventually led to think about Dean staring into his as he came inside his boy, and he was stretched out on the front bench within seconds. He turned the music up a little and laughed when the opening bars to Feel Like Making Love drifted from the speakers. He shifted on the seat enough to get his cock out of his jeans and closed his eyes. He pictured Dean, the man he would become, and imagined what he’d be like with a bit more muscle. A few minutes later, John was gasping as he came, unable to think of anything or anyone else. The following day, he’d kept Dean home from school, brought him to the store to pick a deodorant, and then had breakfast together before bringing Dean to school in time for his third-period science test. That had been almost two months ago. So what was his friend trying to ask?

“I have been accused of worse, in my life, Bobby. But could you be a little more specific?”

“I’m talkin’ about those boys, John,” Bobby snarked, and for one perfectly terrible moment, John thought Bobby knew about his dreams. That somehow, John hadn’t been as careful as he thought he’d been and now Bobby knew. For all that John was careful while awake, his dreams had other ideas, taunting him with images of Dean, sometimes blatantly pornographic, but occasionally just sexy. There were times that he’d wake up in the middle of the night to masturbate, his need overwhelming his sense. Last night, his dream had been so intense, he’d been cumming before he was fully awake, picturing Dean’s face the first time John bottomed out inside of him. John didn’t know what to do with the attraction. He kept hoping it would relent, disappear like a curse (and yes, he’d checked to see if he was cursed in all his research … Dean as well … neither were under a spell or a curse), or that he’d wake up from whatever nightmare he was living. Every once in a while, however, he’d catch a look in Dean’s eyes that worked like a salve against his guilt. If he had to give it a name, he’d almost call it longing, as though Dean were pining away for the same thing John did.  
  
“How old were you the first time you picked up a gun, John?”

“Well, that’s a funny story. It was August twelve nineteen seventy-one, and I was at Parris Island South Carolina,” John began, his heart still trying to beat its way through his ribs. It took him a second to catch on that Bobby was asking about guns when he’d expected the man to flatten him with a right hook. “I was sixteen-years-old, with a forged birth certificate and a strong desire to get the fuck out of my mother’s house. On August eleventh, I had sworn my oath to the United States Marine Corps.”

“Sixteen?” Bobby laughed. “I was Sam’s age. The first time my granddad talked to me about guns, I was about five,  and I held my first pistol at six and a half. It was a little twenty-two pop gun, and, on my seventh birthday, I shot Mister Fluffers square in the balls.” Both men saw the hilarity in that statement and were falling out of their chairs a moment later; their laughter loud enough to wake the dead. John’s laugh had a hysterical edge to it, as he realized his fantasies were still a secret, and all the adrenaline ran out of his body alongside his humor. It took almost ten minutes before they composed themselves, and John knew there was no way the Dean slept through that. He glanced around the room but didn’t see either of the boys, which he knew meant nothing. Dean was incredibly soft-footed when he wanted to be, and Sam was following in his too-quiet footsteps.

“The point here, John, is that it’s time to teach both them boys to protect themselves. And it’s past time you taught Dean how to fight in close quarters. I know Dean carries a pocketknife, and I’m guessing you taught him how to use it,” Bobby waited for John’s confirming nod before he continued, “but it’s not enough, and you know it. Outside of knowing that someday, something we hunt is going to realize you have a family they think they can leverage against you, for good or bad, you’re raising a pair of Hunters. Don’t hamstring them by not givin’ them every tool possible. Every Hunter knows how to protect themselves, no matter the situation. Dean’s a bit young to go huntin’ werewolves, but he can start learnin’ how to shoot so when he has the gun in his hand, instinct and muscle memory pulls the trigger and saves his ass.”

Bobby pinned John with a look that said everything else, a repeat of the same back-and-forth between the two men. Bobby had never been a fan of Dean and Sam traveling with John, and he provided a homestead for them whenever they were in need. Bobby even offered to let the boys stay with him permanently, while John was hunting so they would have stability; Dean had gone silent for five days when John suggested it. That had been the end of the argument for John; if his boys wanted to stay with him, he wasn’t going to force them to do something different. He did make sure they returned often enough that Dean had a couple of friends in the neighborhood, and John knew Bobby’s place was great for the boy’s educations outside of school. Dean could get lost for hours in the scrapyard, taking apart old cars and figuring out what made things work, and Sammy was always glued to Bobby’s side as they read through every book in Bobby’s house. The older hunter helped Sammy to sound out words he didn’t recognize, teaching him folklore and Latin at the same time. It had become such a common thing that John wouldn't be surprised if someday in the future, the sign over the entrance would read Winchester Brothers instead of Singer Salvage. Dean would take care of the mechanic side while Sam ran the business, helping Hunters in the same way Bobby did now. Research and the occasional hunt. At the same time, every time John looked at the boys, all he could see was Mary. And his brain would go back to that night when he’d looked up and saw Mary pinned to the ceiling. When he thought about it (and he tried very hard to not think about that night) the look in Mary’s eyes just before she’d been consumed by the hellfire hadn’t been fear or anger, not even a hint of panic. Her eyes had been full of concern and love, as though she were trying to put all of herself into the boys and protect them. And protecting those boys was John’s highest priority, even over finding the yellow-eyed demon that had killed Mary.

“You’re right. Of course, you are. It just hurts, Bobby, yanno? Those are Mary’s boys, and she’d have wanted so much more for them. How can I saddle them with this, on top of everything else?”

“Balls!” Bobby’s voice was filled with disbelief as he slapped his hand down on the table, causing John to jump slightly. “John, do you think teaching them how to protect themselves is saddlin’ them with somethin’? Cuz if you do, you best get out of the huntin’ business, because you don’t understand it. Those ain’t Mary’s boys no more. Those boys are Winchesters, and anyone they meet, from here on out, is gonna know them as John Winchester’s boys. Mary may have been one helluva mother and wife, John, but she wouldn’t have survived day one in this life, and you know it. Could you see your Mary fightin’ a vampire nest? Would she know enough Latin to perform an exorcism? That’s the life you’re raisin’ them in, a life filled with everything that goes bump, John, and that’s not a world for your Mary. Sammy has about half of the exorcism rites memorized, though he’s got a way to go with the pronunciations,” both men chuckled at that. Sometimes, the way Sammy would sound something out was downright hysterical to the two men, long after Sammy had gone to bed and was in no danger of hearing them laugh.

“Dean has a good chance here, John. Henry’s a good kid, along with the other two knuckleheads he’s friendly with around town. That engine he’s takin’ apart … the Chevelle? Dean’s notes on how he took it apart are better than anything you’ve ever kept track of,” Bobby paused long enough to return John’s one-finger salute and to take another draw on his bottle. “The kid is thorough. He’ll make one hell of a hunter some day. But he needs training in everything, training enough to kick your ass … learn how to protect himself. Plus, I think it’ll be good for both of ya.”

John swallowed the mouthful of booze he’d just taken and looked at Bobby, furrowing his eyebrows. “Good for us?” The tone of voice Bobby had used was not something John could make out.

“You and Dean. Maybe it’s because he’s going through puberty, the poor bastard, or somethin’ else. But the two of you used to be a lot closer, and the last three months, it’s been like walkin’ on eggshells when the two of you are in the same room. Like you can’t wait to be out of each other’s space, and Sammy’s even starting to notice. It’s a thing with you Winchesters,” Bobby continued, having no idea the cobwebs he was clearing for John, though probably not in the way he’d think. “I see it with Dean and Sam, same as you. Those two are what we used to call stair step twins; one soul, two bodies. But I see it with you and Dean, plain as day, too. Least, I used to. I don’t wanna get in the middle and ask what happened, but I will say this,” Bobby pinned John with a hard look that erased any idea the man couldn’t put him down with one blow. “You train him; you gotta love him. And you gotta love him enough to fix whatever it is between the two of you. Personally, I don’t give a shit what it is any more than I care how you fix it, that’s between the two of you. But understand me, Winchester, if you don’t love him that much, you may as well just put a bullet in his head yourself. It’d be kinder, and you know it. Tomorrow, you take Dean out to Henry’s cabin in Baltic and work all this out.”

John was clenching his fist so tightly around the bottle; he was afraid he might actually shatter it. Everything Bobby said had a dual meaning in John’s head. He hadn’t realized that he’d been hiding his feelings so well that Sammy thought he didn’t love Dean, nor that he’d managed to convince Bobby that there was a problem between them. He wondered if he’d done such a good job that he’d created a problem with Dean. Could he love Dean enough to get past this? To swallow everything down and find a solution that didn’t hurt either of them?

“How’d you get so smart, brother?” John asked, raising his bottle as he smiled. “You’re right; there’s been some issues there. But they are all on my end, I worry about him the older he gets. I worry about taking him with me on the road, but you remember what happened the last time I sugges-,” John was interrupted by Bobby laughing, loudly.

“I know, John, believe me. I remember the look on his face the minute you said it. Never seen a mule look more stubborn. That bond of yours is  your best strength.”

“Bobby, you know damn well you’re just as much a part of it as the boys. You’re my brother. Without you, I don’t know where I’d be. Especially after Mary.”

“Well, you’d probably be in the same place you are now. Bottom of a bottle,” Bobby clinked the neck of his own bottle against John’s, and they both took another long slug, before breaking down in laughter again. The booze was settling all his worries, and John relaxed into the feeling. It was rare for John to allow himself to drink so much, both because of the boys and because, when he did drink, he usually got horny.

Much later, after the bottles were emptied, rinsed, and tossed, John said goodnight to his friend and headed upstairs. His plan was a hot shower and then bed, maybe to enjoy a little self-love before falling asleep (sure enough, the booze left him slightly buzzy and horny, and the conversation about Mary had brought her memory close to the surface). He detoured by Dean’s room to check on the boys and found Dean curled protectively around Sammy, looking like he’d just stepped out of the shower himself. His skin was still damp, and Sammy was still bright pink from his boil-the-baby bath, as Bobby had once called it. Once he was assured the boys were okay, he headed to the bathroom and turned the taps over as hot as they would go, intending to strip his clothes off when he noticed another set already on the floor. John leaned down, picking up the first item his hand landed on and turned it over in his palm. His heart stopped beating as he realized he was holding Dean’s discarded clothes from earlier; in particular, he was holding Dean’s boxer briefs. John fought with himself, though not as much as probably should have, before picking up the pile of clothes and folding them onto the side of the sink. Once under the spray of water, he allowed the boiling hot water to sluice over every raw edge of his body. His cock had started to thicken the moment he’d realized what the fabric was, and now his erection was bobbing in time with his heartbeat. John hated himself a tiny bit, but he could justify his actions by blaming it on the booze. Opportunities didn’t show up often enough, and John was a man who believed in taking advantage. Which is why John took the pile of clothes with him when he exited the bathroom and went to his own bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean loved being here. Technically, they were staying at Bobby’s, but in his mind, Dean always referred to the salvage yard as home. It was nice to rest for a while and catch up on things. It was usually the longest he was in a school, and because they managed to come back a few times a year, he had a few friends in the neighborhood and a few more at school. His first call as soon as they crossed into South Dakota was usually to Henry. She lived two miles up the road from the garage and would often meet them at Bobby’s if they were getting in early enough. Her parents owned a small family farm, and her mom made the best pie Dean had ever eaten. It didn’t matter what flavor it was; hers were the best. Dean sometimes wondered what his mother’ was good at, like baking or fixing things. Sammy didn’t remember her at all, and Dean tried his best to tell him about who she’d been, sharing the few memories he had of the woman who’d died on the ceiling of their home. Dad didn’t talk about her much, and when he did, he’d cry himself to sleep when he thought Dean was already asleep. Sometimes it made Dean sad to know Sammy would never remember the sound of her voice, but in a way, he was jealous, too. Sammy didn’t know what Mom looked like on the ceiling. Dean remembered it vividly, and still had nightmares about it sometimes. The one downside about being at Bobby’s was that Dean tended to sleep heavier because he knew he was safe, and that meant it took longer to escape his nightmares. Except, with this stay, scary dreams were the exact opposite of his problem. Since the beginning of the year, Dean had been aware of his body going crazy. He’d grown a few inches, was always hungry, and sometimes, got angry for no reason. Girls had started to notice him in the first grade, and during their trip to San Antonio, Texas (the one before Arkansas), Dean began to notice them back. There had been a few pretty girls in Arkansas, but Dean didn’t know what he wanted to do about the way he felt. It was a strange feeling in his stomach that sometimes went down to his penis, and his heart would start beating super fast in his chest. He didn’t spend enough time around other kids to see if it was normal, but his gym teacher said something about the boys probably going through puberty soon. So, he’d taken a page from what he knew of being a Hunter; he researched the shit out of everything. Soon his brain was filled with words like “nocturnal emissions” and “voice changes” alongside his wondering about getting boners all the time. He hadn’t had any problems until they were finishing up in Arkansas. Until the morning he realized he had feelings for his Dad that went way beyond what a boy should feel for his father.

Dad hadn’t answered him when Dean asked about the V8, but it didn’t matter as Dean’s eyes noticed the familiar can. When he stood from the fridge, he turned his head to make a joke about it being right in front of him, but then he saw something in Dad’s face that stopped him. There was hunger in his eyes. That was the only thing Dean could think to call it. He was staring at Dean in a way he never had before, and as Dean’s eyes quickly glanced to make sure there wasn’t something physically wrong, he forgot how to move. Dad had a boner, a large one from what Dean could tell, and Dean was shocked at the immediate response from his body. Dean’s penis stiffened, and he couldn’t stop staring between his father’s denim-clad thighs. He didn’t know what he expected to see once he finally tore his eyes back up to Dad’s face, but it wasn’t the expression that greeted him. The one that he gave the last slice of pie in a restaurant. He felt bad no one else would get to try it, but he wasn't giving it up to anyone either — territorial hunger. When Dean thanked his father and heard the answering rumble, his voice deeper and thick with something, something in Dean’s chest tightened, and he ducked back into the fridge to escape the feeling, grabbing for the carton of orange juice for himself.

Being home for the last three months meant he and Dad were always stumbling over each other, except it was different now. Dean had always enjoyed the jokes he and Dad would share or the quiet time when they were just in the same room. But since coming to Bobby’s, it was like Dad couldn’t wait to get away from Dean. He made excuses to work with Bobby instead of Dean, was always taking day road trips in the Impala, and on the mornings it was just the two of them in the kitchen before Bobby and Sammy joined them, there was a silent wall between them that Dean couldn’t climb over. Of course, none of this helped the fact that Dean increasingly realized that all the things his research told him he should be feeling for girls, he was actually feeling for his own father. And yeah, he had poked into a little porn while he was researching (Bobby taught him to always be thorough when studying anything), so he knew incest was Very Bad and Not Done. Dean couldn’t deny that every time he looked at Dad or even thought about him, his stomach would go loose, and there was a loud buzzing noise that seemed to want to distract Dean from doing anything other than staring. Since that morning in Cotton Grove, his penis hadn’t gotten that hard, that fast, but he was starting to get boners all the time. One morning, as the two of them were walking to school without Sammy, Henry commented that Dean needed to do something about it.

“If I could figure out what to do, trust me, I would,” Dean answered her, unable to hide the sulk from his voice as he was thinking of something specific he’d like to do.

“My brother jerks his dick off,” Henry shrugged as she spoke. “He’s got a box under his bed that has a couple of magazines and a huge bottle of something called Kentucky Jelly.”

“Kentucky Jelly?” Dean was confused.

“Bottle says KY Jelly.”

Dean choked on his coffee and laughed a little. “It’s just KY. It’s not short for Kentucky. I’ve seen it a few times.” He wasn’t about to confess that he’d seen it in his dad’s duffel, while they’d been staying in a motel somewhere and he’d brought a whore home the night before.

“That’s stupid.”

“Write a letter to the people that make it,” Dean chuckled.

“Dork.”

“Barbie.”

Henry cocked her fist back, and Dean had just enough time to sidestep the blow, or he’d have ended up with a bruise. He knew this from experience. When he’d been here at the beginning of the summer, he and Henry had started play fighting. She had been sparring with her Dad forever, and Dean was eager to learn how to fight. He didn’t have the guts to ask her Dad or his own, so he’d approached his friend. At first, Henry had thought he was joking with her, but he’d finally convinced her, and at every opportunity, she taught him how to block her hits, which is what her father started showing her.

##

On a typical morning at home, Dean was awake before everyone else, so he could go down to the kitchen, find a recipe to make for breakfast, and start brewing the coffee for everyone (Sammy began drinking coffee milk this year). One of the best parts of being home was definitely Dean’s access to cookbooks; Bobby had at least a thousand, and every time Dean came back, there seemed to be more. He wasn’t creepy smart like Sammy, and sometimes he’d have to read the instructions twice to make sure he knew what he was doing, but Dean loved learning new things. He figured it didn’t hurt to know how to cook on top of everything else. Bobby kept his pantry and refrigerator well-stocked, and he always had fresh meat during hunting seasons. On a typical morning, by the time the coffee was finished brewing, either Bobby or Dad would be in the kitchen with him, occasionally both, and then Sammy was right behind. After breakfast, Dad would take Sammy to get him ready for school while Dean went back up to his room to get ready. When it was time to go, Henry was usually waiting for them in the living room, and together they would start the ten-minute walk to Jane Addams Elementary School, picking up their other friends Greg, and Nick along the way. Their first stop was Sammy, dropping him off at his classroom, and then the four would head to their respective homerooms. Lunch brought the four of them together again, and then, after school, they’d all meet at Sammy’s classroom and drop him at home before spending an hour or so hanging out at one of their houses (never Bobby’s). When he came home, he usually disappeared into his garage until Dad called him for dinner.

Dean had begun poking around in Bobby’s yard pretty much from the first time he’d met the man, instantly fascinated by all the machinery and parts. At the beginning of this stretch at home, Bobby had given him free rein to anything he wanted to do, as long as he worked exclusively in the back garage, with tools from that garage, and kept careful notes of what was done, step by step. Dean had been thrilled and spent four days crawling over the scrap yard until he found something; a Chevelle with an engine that was in good shape. He asked about taking it apart, and after Bobby came out to look at the car himself, he’d had given Dean free reign. Dean was taking it apart, bolt by bolt, and learning everything he could about the car, looking for the heart. He would sometimes wait in the garage, already finished with the car for the night, waiting to be called to the house. Dad’s voice rolled across the yard like a physical thing that Dean could wrap around himself. He loved the little thrill that tone of voice sent down his spine. There were a couple of times that Dean thought Dad was onto him, just because of the look in his eye when Dean appeared at the edge of the salvage yard. Those were the times that Dean had to fight against himself to run in the other direction, to run back to the garage and lock himself in. Make Dad chase him so they could get past whatever was wrong. There were other times that Dean wanted to race across the yard and leap into his father’s arms. Dean was hoping that if he showed Dad what he could do with the Chevelle, maybe he’d let Dean join him when he worked on the Impala.

Speaking of mornings, however, Dean fondly remembered being in the kitchen super early one morning after they’d been home for about a week. Sammy had straight-legged his bladder in his sleep, so Dean started his day by running for the bathroom at the end of the hall. He’d tried to go back to sleep after that, without luck, so he’d gone down to the kitchen and started whisking up waffle batter (with yeast since he had plenty of time).

“Somethin’ smells good. What’re you doin’ awake, boy?” Bobby had asked, limping into the kitchen fifteen minutes later. Dean reached for Bobby’s mug and poured him a coffee, placing it on the table for the older man.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean shrugged. He didn’t know how Bobby felt about their sleeping arrangements, and he wasn’t eager to talk about it either. Part of the reason he’d been so against letting Dad go on the road alone had been because of Sammy; he didn’t sleep well on his own, and if they were here all the time, he knew Bobby would insist Sammy have his own room. On the road, that wasn’t an issue.

“Sammy kick you in the balls, huh?” Bobby asked, and Dean looked up, sharply. He relaxed when he saw the older man winking. Dean allowed himself to think maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

"Bladder.”

Bobby winced on his behalf before he chuckled. “Dean, I know you boys have a bond, somethin’ that goes beyond just bein’ brothers. Don’t never think you have to hide that, son, not from family.” The expression on the older man was one of absolute love, without judgment. Dean looked at Bobby curiously. “Family don’t end with blood, Dean. You may not be blood, but you’re just as much family to me as your Dad is to you. You understand that?”

Dean nodded and came forward, hugging the older Hunter close, and smiled as he pulled away. “Does that mean I can work here when I grow up?”

Bobby laughed, and took a sip of his coffee before speaking, “Still gotta prove yourself, boy.”

Dean loved that Bobby always treated him as more of an equal than a child, and wasn’t afraid to stand up to John when necessary.  That Bobby would sit with Sammy and help him sound out words he wasn’t familiar with was enough to endear the grizzled old man to him, but he also went out of his way to sit with Dean under an engine and patiently explain every working part until it was too dark to see, even with lamps. Dean loved his father, but Bobby was his favorite grown-up. “I’ll be the best mechanic for nine states, Bobby. Just you watch.”

“It’ll probably be a dozen states, Dean. Never underestimate your skill. I’m lookin’ forward to what you can tell me about the Chevelle you found today. You’ve got an instinct, boy. Follow it,” Bobby replied earnestly. Dean’s heart skipped a beat, and he grinned at the older man as he spoke. His face fell, however, at the next statement. “You come see me when you can rebuild that Impala out there from the ground up.”

Dean blanched, not wanting to imagine anything so drastic happening to the Impala. For six years now, the Impala was the only steady home Dean had known, over even here. It was a sacred place, similar to the way Bobby must feel about the salvage yard. It was Home, complete with the capital letter and the emphasis. No one wanted to imagine anything happening to their home; especially after what the Winchester men had been through already. Dean heard Bobby laughing, and he fixed his gaze on the older man.

“Wipe the capital murder off your face, boy. You come to see me when you know every bolt on that beauty, how’s that?” When Dean nodded, and, apparently, the murderous expression had faded from his eyes because Bobby chuckled, Dean went back to his breakfast preparations.

##

The table in the farm style kitchen had seating for four, and each of them had “their” place. Bobby, the head of the table by default, was seated nearest the bank of phones, which faced the entrance to the kitchen. Dean was to Bobby’s left, facing a blank, exterior wall. Dad sat to Dean’s left, facing the door to the kitchen from the small, spare garage Bobby used to store meat, and Sammy between Dad and Bobby, facing the refrigerator at Dean's back. The surface of the table itself wasn’t much, so they were always bumping into one another as they ate or talked, with Dean usually getting elbowed by Bobby as he reached for his coffee, or kicking Sammy under the table. Dean loved each meal they shared because it gave him the chance to watch Dad with his guard mostly down. When Dad’s laugh was real, and the light in his face wasn’t forced. Those were easily Dean’s favorite moments, stored away for examination later after Sammy had fallen asleep. He’d noticed lately that thoughts about specific topics (Dad) caused a painfully comfortable ache inside of him, though he couldn’t identify what it was. Dean couldn’t deny he liked the emptiness of it but wanted to fill it at the same time; he just had no idea with what. He purposefully thought about anything else, other classmates and teachers, regardless of age or gender, to see if the same excited bolt of pure want electrified his body. His experiment pointed to only one result; Dad, in every position, any situation. Occasionally Dean caught a glimpse of Dad looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and the look was anything but guilty; which were the times would have to fight to keep from squirming.

Dean had started a beef stew that morning, before school, and was looking forward to a nice big bowl. The temperatures were starting to drop and, pretty soon, he was going to need a winter coat for Sammy. He didn’t even wait for Dad to call him in from the garage. Bobby had helped him make cornbread to go along with the stew, and when everything was on the table, Dad served everyone from the stove. As he put Dean’s bowl down in front of him, Dad cleared his throat, which caused Dean to look up, and he was greeted by the outline of his father’s softened cock against the worn denim of his jeans. Instantly, that ache and urge to squirm was stronger than it had ever been. He couldn’t help but focus on the memory of his Dad that morning in Arkansas, to remember seeing his Dad’s boner. The image had settled into Dean’s brain, and every once in a while, he’d remember it and get a little jolt through his body. Though, he didn’t want to be having jolts like that while sitting less than two feet away from the man. Throughout the meal, Dean managed to control himself and keep his eyes mostly to himself, but something was gnawing at the back of his brain.

“Dean, Uncle Bobby and I are gonna be up for a while, doing some research,” John addressed him as they cleaned up from dinner, “so it’s up to you and Sammy to entertain yourselves.” Dean looked up and nodded. He’d seen Bobby take out a bottle of whiskey earlier so he could imagine the research the men would be performing.

“Sure, Dad. He’s seven, so it’s about time I teach him how to run a table at poker,” Dean answered, waiting for Dad to start laughing. He wasn’t disappointed.

“You might want to learn how to play poker yourself, first,” Bobby slipped in, sending them all laughing again. It was the first time Dean had really laughed with his Dad since Arkansas, and he loved how good it felt.

“I’d need an actual opponent for that, right?”

“Not my fault your father can’t play poker better,” Bobby took a shot at Dad in his response and the two men traded insults for a few minutes while Dean packaged up the leftover stew.

“I’m just glad you’re here to help out, Dean,” John closed the conversation, laying his hand on Dean’s own, and sending a spark straight through to Dean’s cock.

“I’m glad you’re here for the food. Kid, that was real good,” Bobby commented as well, tipping the neck of his beer bottle in Dean’s direction. “I appreciate the help.”

“Sammy needs the food too. He’d start screaming by the time you missed two meals. You wouldn’t be able to sleep through it.” Dean grinned big and bright at the praise as he informed both men as to the power of Sammy’s lungs.

“You hear that, Bobby? My son doubts the tried and true medicine that is Hunter’s helper.”

“I have a feelin’ Sammy’s lungs could outlast a bottle of help.”

“I can eat paper. Wanna see?” Sammy’s tin-pitched voice piped up, and everyone laughed.

“Probably not a good idea to eat any paper in this old house, kiddo. Who knows what Bobby’s spilled on them,” John said, ruffling his hand through Sammy’s hair as he stood to get more coffee.

“Sammy, think of all the dust you’d be eating. And dust is nothing but old skin, hair that fell out, and dirt. You want to eat Uncle Bobby’s skin and hair?” Dean pulled a face, and Sammy’s shrill giggle filled the house.

“Uncle Bobby’s not a skinwalker, De,” Sammy protested with a grin as he stood from the table and walked over to hug his arms around first Bobby, and then Dad. Dean brought Sammy upstairs to his bedroom, letting him watching television for a little while until it was time to shower and get ready for bed.


	4. Chapter 4

After Sammy was dreaming, Dean made his way to the bathroom and stripped his clothes off. He’d gotten pretty filthy in the garage when he’d first come home from school, and though he’d washed his hands and face for dinner, he wanted to get the feeling of oil out of his hair. He turned the water to just barely warm and stepped under the spray. Years of living in shitty motel rooms had conditioned Dean as far as water temperature went. He had to make sure there was enough hot water for Dad when he got back from his hunts, and Sammy wasn’t happy unless he was almost boiling. So Dean preferred lukewarm showers that lasted forever over quick fry of his skin. He tilted his head back under the spray and enjoyed the feeling of the lukewarm water raining down over his face. Bobby always kept a pump bottle of degreasing soap in the bathroom, and Dean was generously applying it to every inch of his body, letting all the oil and grease from the garage rinse away in orange-scented bubbles. Next, he washed his hair, which reminded him that he needed to get a cut soon, and finally just stood under the spray for a few minutes. This was his secluded place when he could take the few minutes under the water without anyone knocking on the door or yelling for him to hurry up — another positive for home. After a few minutes, he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel. He was startled by the sound of the two men downstairs cackling like chickens, and he shook his head as he wrapped himself in a towel and went to see what was happening.

When he reached the landing, he crept against the wall to avoid making the center step creak and continued until he was standing in the shadow of the grandfather clock Bobby had in the living room. He had a direct view of both men, and he noticed they each had a bottle of whiskey. He listened as Bobby talked about them being raised as Hunters, not news as far as Dean was concerned. He knew what to do when the night bumped back, and he couldn’t ignore that. When Dad confessed he was still hurting, Dean was surprised because he never talked about Mom at all anymore. Dean was so used to his ache that sometimes, it was a physical thing, and he’d skip school to spend the day remembering her in his own way. His attention was caught again when Bobby brought up the feeling Dean had been picking at slowly, that Dad had put up a wall between them and Dean couldn’t climb it. The way he answered Bobby did nothing to clue him in as to what had caused Dad to start acting like this. He remained in the spot, listening to the two men go back and forth, and the steady drone of it caused him to fall a little asleep. He listened to them, but it was distant until he heard the clink of the glass bottles. He woke suddenly and realized what had happened, so he crept back up the stairs and slipped into his room. He traded the towel for his new boxers and pajama bottoms, and climbed up into bed, caging his body around Sammy’s and rested his head against the pillow. Less than a minute later, he’d seen his father stick his head in the door, checking on them, and Dean hadn’t been able to help himself. He peeked again. His father’s erection was sticking straight out from under the jeans he was wearing, and Dean wanted, well, he didn’t know what he wanted, but he was sure it involved things he’d bragged about doing with girls to other kids at school. Now there was no way Dean was going to get any sleep as his cock hardened in his … oh crap!

Dean was up and sneaking down the hall before he’d finished the thought. He realized he had forgotten to put his dirty clothes in the laundry and was hoping he could make it to the bathroom before Dad. When he reached the bathroom, he realized his luck had run out when the door was closed, and he could hear his Dad in the shower. Dean returned to his bed, curled around Sammy, and tried to count sheep to fall asleep. Instead, a few minutes later, he was creeping down the hallway to the bathroom he’d just heard his father exiting, hoping to grab his laundry.

##

Five minutes after leaving the bathroom with his prize, John was in his bed with Dean’s underwear in his hand, and a pillow yanked between his thighs. He was just horny enough not to care that Dean was his son for a few minutes, and instead allowed himself to be overwhelmed with its wrongness. The boxer-briefs were soft with age, and he could picture them on Dean’s hips, spread taut across his ass cheeks. John imagined his son, bent at the waist, wearing nothing more than the briefs, and he almost groaned out loud. Since that morning in Arkansas, he’d fantasized about his son’s ass more often than he should, usually when he was masturbating, but being careful to never focus on who Dean was to him. But tonight, with the opportunity to tangibly feel his deepest desire come to life, he refused to pretend anything other than what it was. John wanted to fuck his oldest boy, to be the first in his hole, and trigger his first orgasm. He wanted to make Dean cum on his cock before he even knew how to masturbate and get himself off. This was John’s deepest, most depraved fantasy, and he knew it. But tonight, he indulged in it, knowing Dean was asleep with Sammy in his bed, and Bobby was sleeping off his own drunk at the other end of the house.

He was completely naked, his skin still hot from the temperature of the water, and his cock was harder than it had been in twenty years. He hadn’t even touched himself yet, and he was barely a stroke away from his cock dripping pre-cum like the world’s slowest orgasm. He closed his eyes, painting the visual of Dean beneath him, ass up in the air with his boy body folded under John’s body. Wholly submissive and open to anything John might want, Dean was pliant and eager, swaying his hips side to side, slowly, as though hypnotizing John. The rush of power and desire that raced through John’s body at that moment rivaled wiping out a nest of vampires. His cock thickened even more as he imagined Dean’s pretty, pink asshole as it gaped open after John had seated himself balls deep. John had to admit a sick delight in the knowledge that even Mary had difficulty taking him all the way down. Dean, he knew, would take every inch, because that was the kind of kid he was.

John brought the briefs to his face and deeply inhaled the motor oil and pine that mingled with the smell of innocence. Smoky and bright, Dean’s scent both intoxicated and intrigued John, as though he were an experienced soul in a new body. The thought of his boy, spread wide beneath him, led John to spread the boxer briefs on the pillow he’d pulled under his hips. He let his mind disappear into the fantasy as he straddled the pillow as though it were Dean’s hips, and folded his body until he hovered over his son. He slid the length of his cock along Dean’s boxer covered ass, imagining the ridges of the pillow were Dean’s asscheeks tensing up around him. John closed his eyes and let instinct drive him.

Dean was spread before him, like a buffet of sin. His underwear clung to him in ways John hadn’t even thought of, and he made a promise to himself to always make sure Dean had improperly sized briefs. He was face down against the mattress, his arms forming a V shape over his head, as he hung his neck between his outstretched arms. As John slid his cock forward, his reward was a filthy moan from Dean’s chest as he clenched his cheeks against John’s length. John dug his fingers into Dean’s hips, pulling him up against his body, and he could almost feel his oldest wincing against the latticework of bruises that were sure to appear. Dean understood the need for absolute silence; neither of them wanted to explain their position to Bobby or Sammy. John rolled his hips forward, running his full length over Dean’s asshole as well as his balls and cock. He grinned down at his boy, finding him slack-jawed with pleasure. John pulled himself back, teasing Dean’s hole with his retreat as much as his forward progress, and was rewarded with another filthy moan. He could imagine the softness of Dean’s hole, of being the first to penetrate it, and his cock throbbed painfully.

He knew he shouldn’t fetishize his son, but he was fast coming to a place where he understood it. First, as sick as the thought was, Dean reminded John of Mary with his features as well as her mannerisms. When he smiled, all John could see was his wife, and when he was concentrating, it was Mary all over again, chewing on her pen cap. John thrust forward again, this time pressing more of his body weight behind the thrust, to push himself down against Dean more firmly. He looked down between his legs and tore the briefs down from Dean’s sweet hole. John thrust himself back and forth against Dean’s beautiful hole, pushing his ass cheeks tightly together around his cock. As he came, painting Dean’s ass with his love, he imagined he heard Dean’s voice crying out “Dad!” as he came for the first time. He rutted back and forth until he flooded Dean with his orgasm and the underwear covering the pillow was wrecked once again.

##

Dean was passing Dad’s room when he heard the unmistakable creaking of mattress springs. Dean wasn’t stupid, and he’d woken up once or twice when his father was having sex in the other bed. It wasn’t often, but it happened, and Dean understood that it was a necessity. Dad didn’t have time for dating, and he was still in love with Mom; Dean could see that in the way he hadn’t taken his wedding ring off. But Dean wondered at who was in there with his father. He didn’t think Dad would ever risk bringing a hooker here, and he didn’t have the time to go pick someone up between the time Dean had seen him and his shower. Dean shifted his step slightly, bringing himself up to Dad’s door instead of the bathroom, and he realized the door wasn’t closed entirely. If he stood in just this one spot, he had the perfect view of what his Dad was doing. Something he wasn’t sure he was supposed to see.

Dad was kneeling on his mattress, completely naked, and he was sniffing Dean’s boxer briefs. At first, Dean didn’t know how to feel about it, but his eyes drifted across his father’s body, and he knew he was excited. Whether as a reward or a curse, the universe had provided Dean with a visual that would stay with him the rest of his life. John Winchester, his cock hard and throbbing between his powerful thighs, was completely naked on his mattress. His powerful body was covered in a light dusting of salt and pepper hair, and the raw strength was enough to give any man pause before picking a fight with him. This was the body that protected Dean and Sammy from the things that went bump in the night, and Dean felt something in his chest tighten. His eyes greedily drank in every muscle, every scar, each shadow of his muscles, and Dean almost whined because of the visual painted in his mind.

As he watched, Dad spread his underwear over the pillow between his legs. Dean held his breath, every iota of his attention focusing on that pillow as Dad hovered over it. Something in his stomach pooled hot and tight, and his hips jerked forward without his willing it. He didn’t know why his body was having such a physical reaction, but he could probably halt his pulse easier than he could stop the way his hips canted back and forth in time with his Dad’s thrusts to the pillow. His cock was aching in his pajamas, and he thrust back and forth, but his need only increased. Finally, just as he thought he was broken, his instinct kicked in, and he reached for his dick. He closed his hand around the shaft just seconds before he felt his spine snap in half and his entire body go offline for a solid minute as he experienced his first-ever ejaculating orgasm. He vaguely remembered looking at his father, and he whispered to himself, “Dad!” as his orgasm left him boneless and gasping for air. He was leaning against the doorframe as he watched his father, through heavily lidded eyes, cumming on his boxers. His eyes grew wide as he took in the sight of his father, hunched over the pillow that had been pushed to resemble a rounded set of butt cheeks (and Dean knew damn good and well whose butt cheeks he wished they were), and then soaking his boxers with jizz. His own cock gave a valiant effort at getting hard again, which brought Dean back to reality in time to see Dad’s eyes staring right at him.

Dean ran back to his room, changed his pajamas and underwear, and climbed back into bed with Sammy. His heart was racing in his chest with every breath, convinced Dad was going to come down to his room and demand to know what he’d been doing.

##

John remained where he was, hovering over the ruined pillow with all his weight being supported by his arms for just a moment. He was covered in sweat, his heart was slamming in his chest, and he hadn't cum that hard since ... he couldn't recall the last time he'd orgasmed that hard. His cock was still twitching when he allowed his arms to give way, and he fell forward against the mattress. He’d barely focused on anything when his attention was caught by the image of Dean rabbiting away from his door. John was shocked, blinking a few times to convince himself he hadn’t dreamt it, and then realized the enormity of what had just happened.

He got up, cleaned himself up, and debated going down the hall. He’d almost convinced himself to go, standing at the door leading into the hallway, where Dean had been. Where there now was a small puddle of cum. He cleaned it, threw away the evidence, and went to bed. Wrong or right, John chickened out and tried to sleep.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The sun was still at least an hour or two from dawn when Dean gave up the idea he might sleep, and went downstairs to the kitchen. All night, every time the house creaked, or the wind blew, or any other noise he heard at least a million times before became John Winchester coming down the hallway to demand Dean confess what he’d watched; his Dad rubbing himself against Dean’s boxer-briefs and then jizzing all over them. Dad’s face had been a mixture of worship and adoration; his head tilted back with his eyes half-shuttered. The flex of Dad’s thighs as he moved haunted Dean all night, imagining himself touching his skin as it contracted and flexed. And, he couldn’t argue with the feeling of his dick as he came all over himself last night either. On some base level, Dean knew that this was one of those ‘Wrong Decisions’ that adults always talked about. As though one huge choice that you never get to take back, no matter what would “change you as a person,” and is always shown as being a ‘Bad Thing.’

In Dean’s mind, however, he didn’t see the wrong. He loved his father, and his father loved him, which had to be what had been bothering him. Okay, so maybe he was a little young, and he wasn’t sure about sex, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still be with his father in other ways. Not just anyone could join their little family; it would take someone special to understand the Winchesters and their extended family. And within their family, everyone had a role. Dad was the provider, but he was also the Hunter. He made sure Dean and Sammy had somewhere safe and dry to sleep while he hunted, always made sure there was enough money for Dean to buy some groceries and had started teaching Dean how to play poker, just in case he had to earn a few bucks himself. Dean was the caretaker; he made sure Sammy had everything he needed, made sure the motel rooms were secured and warded with sigils and salt lines and put a plate aside for Dad every night before bed. Sammy was the researcher. Even at seven years old, Sammy was always reading something, and Dean knew that when he got older, there was a fifty-fifty chance he’d take after either Bobby or Dad. Bobby was the backup; the first call Dean made if Dad wasn’t back on time, or if he was away on a hunt and something happened to either one of the boys. There were a few others that lived on the edges of their family, other Hunters, as well as survivors that John had saved from whatever had gone bump in their night, but the core would always be John, Dean, and Sammy, along with Uncle Bobby. And those were the people Dean was primarily concerned with taking care of, to the best of his ability. Dean brewed a pot of coffee and decided he had a taste for hash and eggs, so he went out to the outside fridge, where Bobby kept his meats. Dean grabbed some venison sausage along with regular pork sausage and was returning to the kitchen when he walked straight into Dad’s chest.

“Shit!” Dean exclaimed as the impact occurred. His nose went straight to his dad’s chest hair, and suddenly Dean had a nose-full of “Dad” musk; sleep, warmth, safety, and sex. That last one was new to Dean, but he didn’t know what else to call it when his dick got rock hard the second he inhaled. He’d dropped the sausages when he attempted to stop the impact by putting his hands up, but now he was in the awkward position of having both of his hands splayed wide, inches away from Dad’s hips. Dad’s hands were lightly gripping Dean’s shoulders, pulling him slightly forward as though he were in danger of falling backward. And neither of them moved, barely even breathing, for ten millennia that passed in a few seconds. Dean became acutely aware of the erection his father had in his jeans, and he couldn’t stop himself from curling his hands around Dad’s hips and pulling him closer, as though he were hugging him. He was memorizing the feeling of his father’s cock against his stomach along with the sensation of Dad’s fingers, tight on his shoulders. Dean went to turn his head, resting his cheek against Dad’s chest to absorb the warmth from his skin, and suddenly he could see a nipple, hard and poking out through Dad’s chest hair. His instinct was to lean his head towards it, wanting to see what it felt like in his mouth, but he was stopped by the sound of another set of boots coming down the steps. It was Bobby’s tread on the stairs, and Dean’s heart plummeted to his knees; how the heck was he going to explain a boner? He turned to Dad, silently asking what they were going to do.

“I can distract him so you can go around the house to put yourself together, or I can get us both out of here right now. Pick,” Dad whispered urgently, holding Dean’s gaze. It wasn’t a question in Deans mind at all.

The second he’d uttered the word go, Dad had picked up the sausage and motioned for Dean to follow as he led him outside. They returned the meat to the fridge and made their way to the Impala. Dad was pulling away from Bobby’s home while he handed Dean his phone. A quick look at the caller ID showed Bobby’s number calling.

“You tell him that we wanted to surprise everyone with biscuits and gravy from the Starlite,” Dad instructed, and Dean obeyed without question.

“Hey, Bobby. Yeah, me and Dad were thinkin’ we could get away before anyone else was up. I hope we didn’t wake ya when we left. I wanted biscuits and gravy this mornin’, but you’re out of buttermilk and lard. So Dad’s takin’ me to the store.” Dean lied to the older man as easily as he’d lie about a homework assignment to the teacher of the week.

“You tryin’ to fatten me up for Thanksgivin’, son?” Bobby asked with a laugh.

“Nah, Bobby. I’m fattening up Dad, but don’t tell him,” Dean answered with a chuckle of his own, grinning at his father beside him. “Since you were out of some stuff, I figured by the time we got back and cooked; everyone would be starvin’ so we thought we could stop at the Fairlawn at the edge of town and bring home a couple of orders. They do the best biscuits, according to Dad.”

“Your Dad ain’t wrong. Okay, kiddo, I’ll leave the front door unlocked. You two idjits come on back when you’re done.”

Dean ended the call and handed the phone back to Dad, who looked at him with an arched eyebrow.”Fairlawn is a solid forty-five minutes from here, Dean.”

“And I know Bobby would do just about anything for their biscuits. If I said Starlite, he’d have said he’d rather have something from the house,” Dean wasn’t even going to pretend he didn’t have an ulterior motive. He was curious as to why Dad had driven them away from Bobby’s in the first place. Dean was mostly dressed (missing his jacket and boots), but Dad was in a pair of jeans and nothing more, so they couldn’t go anywhere. For one terrifying moment, Dean thought Dad was going to beat his ass for peeping on him last night.

“What would I do without you, son?” The warmth in Dad’s tone settled some of Dean’s worry. It sounded like Dad before Arkansas, when he would still joke and laugh. The Dad that would watch old movies on whatever channel was broadcasting at the motel, and they’d try to figure out which character was the werewolf, or the striga, and which victim would come back from the dead.

“You’ll never have to know, Dad,” Dean answered honestly, and he felt the Impala swerve slightly. He turned his head towards his father and noticed the white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, along with a dozen guilty looks. Dean took a deep breath and thought about what he should do. What he wanted to do. It was the guilty looks on Dad’s face that made Dean’s decision easy.

“Dad, can I tell you somethin’?”

“Anything, son.”

“Dad …,” Dean began, trying to find the right words. He wanted to erase the guilty feelings Dad was showing on his face, “I watched you last night. On purpose.”


	6. Chapter 6

John got very little sleep that night. Every noise, even just the house settling, sounded like Bobby coming down the hallway to demand what he’d done in front of his son. And, when he did manage to drift off for a few minutes, his dreams were filled with the image of Dean, spread open before him. John wasn’t sure which was worse; being awake or being asleep. When he heard Dean creeping down the stairs, John had argued with himself. There was no reason for him to go downstairs; no reason for him to get out of bed whatsoever except for Dean. John needed to see his oldest boy, needed to know that last night hadn’t damaged him or scarred him in some way. John didn’t only feel guilty about what he’d done, but he also felt guilty for being so caught up in it that the rest of his guard had dropped down. He had no idea at what point Dean had seen him. He knew he’d seen the pillow, but did he know about the rest? Had he seen his boxer briefs spread out on the surface as John humped his hard cock back and forth against the material like he was slipping between his son’s ass cheeks? Did he get there in time to see John sniffing them, like a predator scents prey? And, after he’d finished, seeing Dean as he ran from the doorway had both horrified and excited him which made him the sickest man on the planet.

After a few minutes arguing with himself, John pushed himself from the bed and threw on a pair of jeans before going downstairs. He told himself he was going to brew some coffee since he was awake. He could hear Dean rustling around in the kitchen already, but as he turned into the room, Dean was nowhere to be seen. John noticed the coffee was already brewing and had just turned towards the cabinet where Bobby kept the mugs when his son had slammed into his body. John was a solid six-foot-two, but Dean was barely hitting four-foot-eight, which meant he pressed against all the wrong (right) spots. Immediately, John felt his cock responding to the nearness of his son, and he knew it was a losing battle. His hands on Dean’s shoulders felt natural, as did Dean’s hands on his hips. John couldn’t stop the erection, and he found that he didn’t want to either.

When Dean turned his head, and his breath ghosted across his nipple, John shivered. He wondered what Dean’s tongue would feel like against the over-sensitive nub. Something in the back of his mind heard Bobby coming down the stairs, and John had to shift gears quickly. He looked at Dean, the glassy look disappearing the moment he listened to the same tread, but it was replaced by a look that hoped someone else had a plan. His choice to go, instead of hiding, had surprised John, but he quickly got them out to the Impala and turned towards the Big Sioux. His cock was throbbing, and he’d heard the whispery groan Dean had made when their bodies had pressed together. He knew it was wrong, and dirty, but he couldn’t stop himself either. When his phone rang with Bobby’s home number, he hadn’t been sure the lie would hold, but Dean took care of that. Not only covering for them for at least two hours but coming up with a better excuse than John himself had thought of. For a moment, John wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing, that his son could lie as quickly as he could tell the truth, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Dean would spend most of his life lying; it was a Hunter’s life always to conceal who they are. Seconds later, when Dean turned a casual compliment into a sort of promise, all the blood in John’s body had rushed down to his cock, and he’d had to make an effort to keep the Impala on the road. Half a second after Dean confessed he’d watched him last night; John started looking for his turnoff to the clearing, pressing a little harder on the gas. Half a mile up the road, and he realized he wasn't going to be able to wait that long, so he pulled off onto a road he knew didn't get used and drove far enough down so they were hidden from the main roadway.

Once he’d pulled over, John turned to look at his son. At first, he could only think of what he knew as Dean’s father; he was four-foot-eight, which was tall for his age, and he weighed about eighty pounds. He had the same dirty-blond hair that Mary had, but his eyes were a brilliant, bright green. But soon enough, John could imagine the look on Dean’s face as he stroked his cock for the first time. That visual alone had John growling under his breath. He turned his body in the seat and looked across the bench at Dean.

“What did you see, Dean?”

To his credit, Dean didn’t even blush as he looked his father in the eye. “I watched you fucking my underwear. I watched you bunch a pillow up like it was me, put my underwear on it, and you fucked it,” Dean put extra emphasis on the word ‘fucked’ than any other in the sentence. It sounded more like a reverence than an accusation, which caused John’s cock to thicken even more. But, of course, he also didn’t have a ready response, so he remained silent as he felt Dean shift in his seat.

“What did you think?” John’s brain was on autopilot, and he couldn’t stop any of his reactions, nor his thoughts and questions. There was a whisper of how wrong this was, but there was something in his son’s wide, green eyes, that quickly wiped that away.

“I … uh,” Dean began, and John felt him squirm again. A glance down showed John why. “I liked it, I think. I, um, got ha,” Dean choked on the word, “hard.”

Now it was John squirming. “And … did you do somethin’ about that?” He took a wild stab, based on the way Dean talked about it, he had maybe only just started masturbating, and his cock was starting to ache with the pressure of his erection.

That brought out the blush that caused every freckle on Dean’s face to light up, like a beam of sunlight across his nose. John casually adjusted himself by leaning back against the door and stretching his left leg down in the well of the seat while he curled his right leg up on the bench. Dean mirrored his position against the passenger side door, stretching his thin arm over his left knee. “Tried to.”

“Tried to? How did you try?” John had to admit it was a little confusing. Jerking off was automatic from what he remembered from going through puberty. And John had cleaned up the evidence, so he knew, at the least, ejaculation had happened.

“Well, I … uh,” Dean paused, running his hand over the back of his neck, “when I was watch-ching you, I got ha-ard and sort of thrust when you did.” He stopped, and John tried not to move too much, holding his breath, so he didn’t spook Dean. He almost thought that was all Dean would say, but another beat of his heart and Dean’s skin flushed down to the collar of his shirt. When he spoke again, his voice was pitched almost to a whisper, “I kept rubbing my hips back and forth and it fe-felt … um … good, but like not good enough. So, I reached fo-for my dick, and that’s when it happened.”

“When what happened, Dean?” John fought the urge to roll his hips as he adjusted on the seat. He didn’t know how he managed, but he made a note to thank the universe. He couldn’t take his eyes off Dean, whose eyes were glassy, as he absently ground his hips down against the bench seat. The whisper that followed the action was John’s undoing.

“I came, Dad.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I had no idea this was going to grow like this.

As the confession fell from Dean’s lips, John inhaled deeply and imagined he could smell the sweetness of Dean’s cock. Dean’s eyes were glassier now, hips barely shifting, as though he were holding himself still and every once in a while, the control slipped. John slid across the bench and pressed his hand against Dean’s left thigh, gently squeezing. Dean’s eyes rolled over to his, and he sucked his lower lip between his teeth. John’s already throbbing cock felt as though he were having a dry orgasm as he looked Dean in the face.

“You came before I did, didn’t you?” Dean’s only answer was to nod his head.

“You said something when you came,” John stated, watching as Dean nodded again. John slid his hand from Dean’s thigh to his stomach, just above the waistband of his jeans. He could feel the flush of Dean’s skin through his t-shirt.

"Do you know what you said when you came?" John needed to know if it had been his imagination.

Dean's mossy-green eyes caught John's gaze and held it. His answer was a whisper and a shout, searing its way down to John's core, "I was saying your name. Dad."

John shuddered through his next breath, staring into his son's lust-clouded eyes, “Beautiful.”

It was the only word he could think of to describe what he was being shown. Dean’s breathing hitched when John slid his hand along his son's thigh and moved towards the waistband of his jeans. Dean’s resulting whine caused his cock to throb inside his jeans, and his heart thumped. Dean was panting as John unbuttoned his pants, those gorgeous eyes watching every move John made as he slid his hand under Dean’s right knee and lifted it to the seat. John thought he heard a moan as he brought his hands up to the waistband again, this time beginning to tug them down over those deliciously bowed legs. He could feel the leaking tip of his cock start to soak against his jeans, and every breath made it feel like his jeans were lined with sandpaper. It was the only thing keeping him from cumming all over himself.

“Dean you want me to stop, at any point, for any reason, you tell me to stop, you hear me? I know you’re young, but I also know your curiosity,” John teased gently, bringing a slurred giggle from Dean, “so we’re gonna go nice and slow with everything. I’m takin’ your pants off because I want you to show me what you did, but I don’t have any spare clothes in the car.”

Dean managed another nod, licked his lips, and took a breath. “I know.” He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and pushed them down to where John’s hands were on his thighs. He waited, holding onto the material until John physically took the underwear from Dean’s fingertips, and John could feel the spark between them as their fingers brushed together. John continued to pull both pants and underwear down to Dean’s ankles. He was pleasantly surprised when he looked up from where he was crouched over Dean’s legs and saw his son had already removed his t-shirt and was using it to brace the back of his head against the door.

“Show me, baby,” John could barely get the words out over the pounding of his heart. He barely contained his breathing, relying on things he’d picked up while in the service and during his cursory hostage training. John was never more aware of the callouses on his fingertips than he was right this moment. He trailed his fingers over Dean’s legs, taking in the already forming muscle beneath the thin veneer of baby fat that still clung to his frame. Over the next couple of years, Dean would lose all of that fat, and he’d start bulking up into the man he would ultimately become. Lean muscle from Mary’s side from the way he was already beginning to carry himself. Reliable in a fight, with speed on their side, Dean would make a decent fighter someday.

Dean shivered under his touch, and John finally allowed himself to look at Dean’s cock. Even just saying it kicked him in a weird place that felt both awful and sexy at the same time. Dean’s cock was stiff, bouncing in time with what John assumed was his heartbeat, and John watched as a drop of precum formed and began to drip down the side. He wanted to taste it, but there’d be time enough for that later. For now, he wanted to see what Dean had done while he’d watched John getting off. He leaned back slightly, still resting his hand against Dean’s thighs, and watched his son as he licked his lip again.

“You were naked, too.”

John groaned, loudly, as he rushed to accommodate Dean. He swiftly unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down his thighs, freeing his leaking and aching cock. He watched Dean’s expression when John palmed his cock, smirking at the naked hunger in those deep green eyes.

##

Dean stopped thinking the moment Dad asked him what he thought of what he’d seen. It wasn’t a declaration of anything, but Dean also understood it meant there was at least something between them. He’d been afraid to admit what he’d done, scared he’d be rejected because he didn’t know how to control his dick. The warmth of Dad’s hand against his thigh had burned deep inside of him, branding him down to his soul. Dean’s head filled with the scent of just the two of them in the Impala tucked away from the world in a field, and all he wanted to do was to feel good, as he had last night. When Dad asked him to show what he’d done, his entire world fell into place. This was what he wanted, and his body knew it. His breath came hot and fast, staring up into Dad’s eyes as he nodded with the suggestion of taking off his clothes, some part of his brain tried to help by pushing his underwear down with the pants and then making a pillow from his t-shirt. He could feel a queasy excited feeling in his belly, almost the same as last night, and he felt his dick twitch. That twitch became a full body shudder as he watched his father rush to strip his jeans down, leaving him as naked as Dean himself.

Dean’s eyes settled on Dad’s cock as he pushed his jeans down. Last night, it had been far away, and Dad hadn’t exactly been sitting still enough for Dean to get a good look. Now, nothing was stopping him from staring. Dad’s cock was like the man himself, impressive and a little scary. Long and thick, his cock throbbed with every breath, and precum had dripped from the head down to his stomach already. Dad’s balls looked heavy as they hung low between his thighs, and Dean wanted to reach out and feel them; test their weight and run his fingers through the silky-looking curls of his pubic hairs. Dean’s heart was racing, and he could feel his hips starting to roll, just as they had last night when he watched his father fucking the pillow and had imagined that same cock dragging across his hole instead of only his underwear. He was afraid to reach for his dick. He knew, the second he touched it, he was going to cum again. His skin was too hot, stretched too thin, and he didn’t want to ruin this moment. After a few seconds, he felt his father shift and lean forward.

“Do you want help, Dean?”

Dean nodded, looking Dad in the eye while responding. Before his next heartbeat, he felt his father’s hand close around his cock, and his voice filled the Impala.

“Let me, son.”

A moment later and the only thing Dean Winchester knew was his father. He curled his palm over Dean’s cock, somehow getting the pressure just right, and began using long, deliberate strokes, from the base to the tip, and back again. He felt the slick of his father’s fingers, coated in something, but he didn’t know what. When his strokes were so long, it left Dean aching in a way he’d never known. An emptiness that needed to be filled, and when Dad ran the very calloused tip of his index finger across the almost painfully sensitive tip of his dick, Dean cried out and felt like he was going to cum, just like last night. Except, as soon as he thought he might, Dad stopped stroking and clamped his hand on the base of Dean’s cock to prevent the orgasm from happening. At first, Dean had enjoyed it for the sharp rise and fall of sensation, especially after Dad resumed stroking once the urge to cum had passed. But after the third time of being denied, he was uncomfortable, and after the fifth, he was incoherent with too many feelings to pick. He’d slipped down in the seat so that he was almost sitting in Dad’s lap, with his legs on either side of his waist. He could feel Dad’s cock brushing against his thigh every time he rolled his hips down, chasing after the feeling like a Hunter finds their monsters.

“Such a good boy for me, Dean. I’m so proud of you being able to wait like this. This is how I know you’ll make a great Hunter, son. You have patience, instinct, and there’s that primal piece inside of you. I know you can hold out just a little bit longer, son,” Dad’s voice filled his head and Dean’s hole clenched tightly as another orgasm tried to force its way out of Dean’s body. The praise caused another spark of excitement, deeper inside of Dean’s body, and he loudly moaned as he tilted his hips enough that Dad’s cock was dragging against his hole. He couldn’t think, act, or breathe properly. His heart was going to explode out of his chest like that guy in Alien. Everything depended on the firm hand touching him, the deep, dark eyes watching him, and his stomach turned inside out as his whole body electrified. He whimpered, looking up at his father, and felt the pressure start crawling along his spine.

A minute later, Dean was on his back on the bench and Dad was hovering over him. When Dad thrust, every inch of his cock dragged across Dean’s hole, and he heard his father grunt. The next push was sharper, the head of Dad’s cock resting just at his entrance, and that was the end of Dean. As Dad was still pumping his thick cock over Dean’s hole, Dean felt a shudder go through his body, and that was followed by the same, intense sensation that had been his first orgasm. His back bowed as he blindly reached out for Dad’s arms to anchor himself. His brain went white with pleasure, and he was vaguely aware of calling out as his orgasm tore through his body, hot and bright. As he watched, Dad’s hand started stripping his cock, and he made a noise Dean would never forget. Dad purred, like a cat. 

Less than a moment later, he watched as Dad’s orgasm had him thrusting hard and fast as his cum shot out all over Dean’s hole, and some dripped down to his balls. The sticky warmth running over Dean’s cock sent him off on a secondary orgasm that was twice as intense, but also short-lived.

Immediately, Dad scooped Dean up into his lap and held him close. He could hear his father whispering sweet things in his ear, but he wasn’t listening. Dean's senses had turned up to fifteen, and he wasn't sure how to process everything. Dad was anchoring him to reality while he figured out everything else. He could still feel Dad’s cock, soft now, just underneath his butt, and he decided he liked that feeling. Comforting in a way that made sense only to the two of them. He could still feel his stomach muscles wanting to contract while his hole tried to clench down on something without really knowing what that even meant. Each time he clenched, he felt Dad flinch, and he realized the connection. The next time, it wasn’t accidental. He heard his father snort out a laugh before carding his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“If you’re awake enough for that, you’re rested enough to finish what we came out here to do in the first place,” Dad teased, pressing a kiss to Dean’s forehead and letting his lips linger for a moment longer. Dean decided he liked the scratch of beard against his face.

“Isn’t that what we just did?” Dean managed to not laugh when he asked, while Dad wasn't so lucky. His laughter filled the car and then the field around them when he opened the door to clean up and get re-dressed, inviting Dean to do the same.

“Okay, smartass. In the glove box, get the ba-,” Dad began to say before Dean came around the car; baby wipes in hand already. They spent a few minutes cleaning everything up and getting redressed before getting back into the car. “Dean, you and I are gonna talk about this later today. I’m gonna start bringing you out to the range to teach you how to shoot a gun, and Bobby’s gonna start helping Sammy learn how to be safe around guns. But I want you to hear me for right now, okay, son?” Dad waited until Dean nodded his head before he went on, “I love you. I will always love you and try to understand you, so please don’t ever think you have to do anything you don’t want to do, son. You say stop, and I promise you, I’ll listen. I don’t ever want this to be something that’s forced, can you agree?”

Dean contemplated for a moment, thinking about how things would change, how hard it would be to get away with it in the close quarters they lived in, the lies they would have to tell people they cared about. He chuckled a little at the expression on Dad’s face and risked leaning forward to kiss his father’s mouth like he had seen couples do on television and in movies. “I know all that, Dad. I’m not doin’ anything I ain’t thought of a million times since Arkansas.”


	8. Chapter 8

John knew, from the moment he’d reached out for his son’s cock, this was only going to end one way. In the blind second he had to remember there was still a bottle of lube in the well of the driver’s side door, he slicked his palm before curling his hand around his son. The absolute trust Dean had in his expression as John gripped his cock for the first time had been something magical. Watching his face each time John would stroke his cock just to the edge and then stop, the different stages Dean went through as he whimpered and begged. But it was Dean himself, limp as cooked spaghetti in his lap, that ultimately had John needing to cum on that perfect ass. The way he’d chase after John’s cock as it slipped against his thigh drove John mad enough that he’d flipped Dean across the bench and pushed his legs up into his chest, same as he’d fantasized about last night. He bent far enough to imagine sliding into his hole (someday) while still being able to look him in the eye. And what John saw there was devastatingly beautiful, Dean’s eyes almost rolled up into the back of his head, his cock twitching as his orgasm was finally allowed to happen, and wailing out for “Daddy” as John’s cock throbbed and he came on his son’s hole. He couldn’t help but watch every moment of Dean’s orgasm, wanting to memorize it. The surprising second orgasm that chased after the first had John grabbing Dean into his lap, stroking his hair and whispering nonsense into his ear as he shuddered so beautifully. His heart had never been more full than right this moment, with Dean curled in his lap, cum painting his virgin hole, and coming down from the overwhelming sensations assaulting him right now. John imagined a time when he might hold Dean like this, with his cock buried inside his boy’s hole. He shifted Dean slightly, hoping they could take at least a few more minutes before they had to go back to reality, and chuckled when he felt him intentionally trying to tease.

By the time they cleaned themselves up and got back into the car, John figured they’d both had enough time to recover they could have an actual conversation. He needed the reassurance as much as he needed the permission. He noted the flinch in Dean’s eye when he’d mentioned Sammy and guns, but it wasn’t somethin’ he’d be negotiating. When John started the car again, Dean slid across the bench and pressed himself as close to John’s side as he could get, which led to John wrapping his arm around Dean’s slender shoulders and holding him like a man would his date. He even let Dean pick the music, albeit from a limited selection, and pushed all the horses under the hood to reach Fairlawn a little bit faster. Luck was on their side when they arrived as there wasn’t a massive line of people so Dean was able to run in and out and they were back on the road. This time, Dean kept his distance to his side of the car and John wondered if it was a conscious decision, knowing that heading back toward Bobby’s meant more people who knew the car, or merely an unconscious reflex toward preservation. Whatever it was, John used it to his advantage, distancing himself from what they’d done so he wouldn’t look guilty when they were home at Bobby’s. Another stop at the store for buttermilk and lard provided John with the chance to bring up a sensitive subject before reaching Singer Salvage.  

“I’m gonna suggest shootin’ at the breakfast table, and I’d appreciate if you can have an open mind about Sammy and Bobby,” John said, sitting in the idling Impala. He risked a glance over to Dean and found him with his arms crossed and a mulish expression on his face. “Dea-,”

“Dad, I’m not cool with my seven-year-old brother toting around a six-shooter. He can barely color between the lines, and he can’t hold a pencil at all.”

“He ain’t gonna be holdin’ a gun, Dean. Bobby’s just gonna start teachin’ him how to be smart about ‘em. So that when he’s your age, he can start shootin’ range. I promise you, I ain’t armin’ Sammy unless I absolutely have to, Dean. Same as you,” John looked over at Dean, checking to see if the mulish expression had changed. Oh well. When they arrived at the house, Dean was his usual, cheerful self. He put the biscuits and gravy out on the counter and served himself first with an unapologetic grin.

##

“I dunno if I wanna,” Sammy was saying, and he turned to look at his brother. It wasn’t unusual, the two of them always went by their way of things, but that had been why John suggested it to Dean first; to get him used to the idea in the hopes that he wouldn’t scare Sammy. He was bracing himself for an argument as soon as Sammy turned.

“Why don’t you wanna?” Dean asked.

“Dunno. I mean, it’s not like I’m always around guns and stuff.”

“Yeah, you are,” Dean replied, matter-of-factly, which caused both John and Bobby to look at the boys in surprise.

“Nuh uh. I’d know.” Sammy had his smug voice on, which caused Dean to roll his eyes.

“Whattya bet?”

“Uhhhmmm, when I’m right, you have to do breakfast dishes for a week.” Sammy sat back with a grin and tried to wink at John. John was mystified as to what Dean was driving at.

“And what are you givin’ up when I’m right?” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.

“I’ll do your dinner dishes for a week,” Sammy offered, but Dean shook his head. He had something else in mind. Something more important.

“Nope. Tell you what. When I’m right, you gotta promise to at least give Bobby a couple of months learning about guns. So, how many weapons you think are in this kitchen?” Dean challenged his little brother, and John began to grasp an idea of what Dean was shooting toward. His version of a barometer, specific to his understanding of Sammy. Testing something about his awareness.

“Uhh,” Sammy looked around the room carefully, taking his time to measure everything possible. He squinted when he looked at John, tilting his head to the side slightly before moving on to something else. Several minutes later, he answered Dean, “A crossbow and two handguns.”

“Close, Sammy. But there’s actually,” Dean looked around the room before turning back to Sammy, “eight pistols, a shotgun, and a crossbow in the kitchen, right now.”

Sammy’s eyes went wide but not as much as John or Bobby. John was alternately floored that his son knew how to identify where weaponry was being stored and confused about what Dean’s point was with challenging Sammy’s knowledge.

“Can you point out all the guns, Dean?” Bobby asked, and Dean nodded.

“I can, yeah. But I wanna see which ones Sammy picked up on first.” Dean looked at his little brother, who didn’t seem quite so sure of himself.

“Make sense there’s one each on Daddy and Bobby, and the crossbow is right by the door,” Sammy pointed out. Dean wasn’t successful in his management in hiding his disappointment as he went on to point out all the weapons he’d missed.

“Bobby has two, along with the shotgun behind his left shoulder, to maximize balance. Dad has one handgun and two blades.”

Next, Dean walked over to the pantry, reached up and pointed to the sack of flour on the second shelf. “Four.” Five and six were in the cabinets Bobby used for cups and platters, the crossbow was beside the door leading out to the garage he used for extra storage of meat during hunting season, the seventh pistol was strapped under the bank of phones, and the eighth Dean pointed to the refrigerator.

“Taped to the top of the fridge,” Dean grinned at Sammy through the entire presentation. When he was finished, Dean sat back down in his chair, crossed his legs at the ankles, and winked at his little brother, who had turned to the adults in the room asking for confirmation.

“I’m tryin’ to figure out how the hell you knew about the one on the fridge,” Bobby sounded surprised.

“Makes sense,” Dean shrugged a little, “and the fridge was the easiest one. In a room this size, and set up like it is, it makes sense to have a weapon available at every corner,” Dean answered, pointing to the four corners of the room. “The refrigerator as you come into the room, the mug cabinet as you go left, the platters and serving trays cabinet on the right, the door leading out to the spare garage, and the bank of phones that formed a perfect square.” Dean grinned around his coffee mug before he continued, “So, I was right, and that means you go training with Bobby for at least a few months and see what he can teach you. Dad promised he’s gonna take me to the range.”

John and Bobby exchanged a look but said nothing. John wasn’t entirely sure what Dean was thinking, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth either. Something he’d said must have made sense in Dean’s mind for him to change his mind so drastically. John was just glad for whatever it had been. If Dean had indeed opposed them, it would have been an ugly fight that John wasn’t entirely sure he’d have won.

“Can I come with you?” Sammy asked Dean, his face bright with hope.

“Not this time, Sammy. It’ll be good for you to train with Bobby while I’m gone so you can concentrate better. And,” Dean leaned close, as though whispering a great secret, “I don’t want you to see how much I suck with firing a gun. Let me get some practice in first, deal?”

Sammy laughed hard enough to cough up his juice and the subject passed without issue.

##

Dean’s urge to protect Sammy was probably the strongest instinct Dean had, and so when Dad suggested Sammy start training with Bobby, Dean was both surprised and not. He’d heard Bobby talkin’ last night, and he knew the topic had come up. But that didn’t stop the visual of his baby brother, who struggled with pencils and crayons, with one of Dad’s big guns in his hand. When Dad had explained it, the logic made sense to Dean, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He’d plastered a smile on his face as they got back to the house, but he also started to think about what some of the benefits could be. Dean hadn’t been that much older than Sammy when he figured out where all the guns were kept in Bobby’s kitchen and living rooms, but he had a suspicion that Sammy didn’t. And if he was honest with himself, he knew damn good and well that Sammy knowing about guns would save his life someday. Dean thought about it for a minute before deciding he’d let Sammy have a chance. If he knew how many weapons were in the kitchen, Dean would support him not having to train. After Sammy showed he didn’t know, Dean accepted that Sammy just needed to learn in his way. And Bobby would make sure Sammy was safe.

When Dad announced around eleven that morning that Dean needed to get ready so they could be at the range by noon, Dean had rushed to get everything he’d need prepared. He got his ear protectors, his safety goggles, and his gloves, packing them all together in his backpack and setting it by the front door. Dad said they’d be gone about three hours so Bobby and Sammy could have an idea of when to expect them back. 


	9. Chapter 9

“How did you know about all the guns in Bobby’s kitchen?” Dad asked, once he and Dean were in the Impala and headed towards Baltic.

“Dad, I know all the weapons Bobby keeps at home. I know the reason we come up here isn’t just research. Our house is the safest square footage between here and Timbuktu, and not just because of the salt in the walls and the framing, or the panic bunker in the basement. I bet anywhere in Bobby’s house is less than ten steps from at least two weapons, and I’m counting the bathrooms. There’s a forty-five under the toilet lid and another shotgun beside the shower,” Dean answered, casually going through the cassette tapes to find something something he wanted to hear. “It’s our family business, Dad, hunting things and protecting people. I’ve known since we first came up here that someday, I’d be doin’ the same thing you are. That someday, me and Sammy might go out and hunt, too. And bein’ aware of what’s around me gotta be a part of that, so I started payin’ attention. I seen Bobby put the shotgun away one night, and I found the gun in the mug pantry when I was puttin’ dishes away one night. From there, I just figured it would make sense.” When his father didn’t answer, Dean looked over and noticed the dazzlingly bright smile on Dad’s face.

“What’s the smile about?”

“I’m proud of you, Dean. Every day, you give me another reason to be proud of you.”

Dean wanted to ask about why, then, had he been so distant all summer, but figured it could wait until they were at the cabin. Instead, he slid across the seat once more and settled himself against Dad’s right side, and he smiled when his father’s arm came up automatically and wrapped around his shoulders.

“Do you know how many weapons there are, total, in Bobby’s house?” Dad asked, his tone curious.

“I know there are more than I have found,” Dean laughed a little as he answered, “and I’ll probably never know exactly how many unless he leaves us the house in his will. But, I guess there’s at least four in every room, and two in each bathroom.”

Dad had started laughing when Dean mentioned never knowing how many weapons were in the house, and was still smiling as he turned off I-29 and the Impala turned back towards the river. “Even Bobby doesn’t know how many weapons are in his house, I guarantee it.”

They rode for another twenty minutes, occasionally singing along with the radio, and then turned from the maintained road to … Dean wasn’t even sure you could call this a road. He and Dad had to brace themselves several times as they went up the road, slowing down to an almost crawl in fear of what the bumps and dips would do to the Impala’s suspension.

“Here we go,” Dad announced a few minutes later, pulling up in front of a simple stone gate that looked totally out of place. “Welcome to the cabin. You are officially the fourth person in the world who knows about this place.” He got out of the car, punched a code into the box on the side of the gate, and climbed behind the wheel with a mischievous grin. When he extended his arm across Dean’s shoulders, he felt Dad’s hand “accidentally” brush against his nipple, which tingled faintly with the contact. Dean squirmed against the seat again, feeling his dick harden right away.

“Wanna see somethin’ cool?”

##

Henry’s cabin sat in the middle of ninety-nine acres just outside Baltic, South Dakota. John didn’t understand all the details regarding the cabin, but according to Bobby, three years ago, six lawyers in expensive suits had shown up on Bobby’s porch and explained the previous owner had been a distant cousin with no heirs of their own. There was a fund set up to take care of maintenance on the property, repairs, and the cabin. There were only three people on the face of the planet that knew about this cabin, and Dean would make four; Sammy would make five someday. There was a rumor that the whole place was built on a massive devil’s trap carved into the earth, though John had never tested the theory. The property itself, warded better than Bobby’s house, was only accessible via a gate that, if you didn’t know the code, had some very nasty surprises.

During the drive, John felt a sense of contentment he’d not experienced since before Arkansas. Between Bobby’s talk last night, and the look of want in Dean’s eyes this morning in the field, John was able to get a few things straight in his head. Dean was almost twelve, Sammy would be turning eight next year, and both boys were mature well beyond their years. Dean had proven that this morning; beginning with pulling John closer in the kitchen before Bobby came downstairs, and finishing up with the look in his eyes when he’d orgasmed the second time. When Dean pulled himself across the seat to settle against him, John’s heart thumped twice. Regardless of what the world thought, John couldn’t lie to himself. He loved his sons, would do anything to protect them, and Bobby had been right; he couldn’t train Dean if he didn’t love him enough to figure out how to get past what was between them. And right now, the only thing between them was John’s guilt; something that was coming in short supply the longer Dean was pressed up against his side. He chuckled to himself as he turned onto the property, an idea forming in his head.

After entering the code, John wrapped Dean against his side again, this time brushing the backs of his knuckles against Dean’s barely visible nipple. He felt Dean shiver slightly, and he looked down to smile. John had remembered something as he’d exited the car to punch the code in the box. Every visit out here, including the day after a blizzard last year, the road was clear to the pavement. There had never been a single frost heave or even a fallen branch in the way. He and Bobby hadn’t been able to figure it out yet, but they were working on it. Along with about six dozen other mysteries.

“Wanna see somethin’ cool?” At Dean’s excited nod, John leaned down to press a kiss to his temple, and whispered, “Hang on.”

John pressed his foot down on the accelerator, and all six hundred ponies responded. Both father and son were pushed back against the seat as the sleek, black beauty jumped from five miles an hour all the way up to eighty. He risked another look at Dean’s face as he crept over eighty-five miles per hour and found an expression of absolute joy. Dean was giggling as he pulled himself away from John to lean out the passenger door window, as though he were flying. He spread his arms up over his head, and his laugh was a sound John would never forget. He reached out to hook his hand in the belt loops on the boy’s jeans, just in case, but he knew Dean would be okay.

Once they were on the property, it didn’t take too long to get to the cabin, especially when John pushed the engine past ninety miles per hour, and they were able to unpack everything they would need. Dean grabbed the cooler packed with sandwiches while John picked up a few of his guns from the trunk, along with their required ammunition. He followed Dean into the house, putting the weapons on the table in the front room, and sat in the kitchen when Dean called out that he’d put lunch together.

##

Dean’s fingers were still a little shaky as he unpacked the cooler, and his cheeks were starting to hurt from how big he was smiling. They had been flying! Dean’s legs had gone to jelly as he leaned out the window, but he knew Dad wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He’d never done anything that fun before, and Dad’s laugh had reminded him of before the fire. Once lunch was on the table, Dean called out to his father and sat down. By habit, he sat with his back to the main door, so Dad could have a view of the entrance, but he had a view of the rear door, which made it his responsibility. He knew why the table at Bobby’s house was set up the way it was; the two experienced Hunters were watching the main entrances while the boys were out of the direct line of fire.

When Dad joined him in the kitchen, he thanked Dean before gently running the backs of his knuckles over Dean’s cheek. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he leaned up into the contact and smiled at his dad. As Dad took his seat, the two ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, though Dean couldn’t stay silent for long. He needed to know.

“Dad, why are you mad at me?”

 


	10. Chapter 10

“Dean, I’m not mad. I was never mad. This situation is … complicated.”

When Dean asked why he was mad, John felt his world bottom out. Bobby’s words from last night, _‘you gotta love him enough to fix whatever it is between the two of you’_ rang an unmistakable bell in John’s head as he looked at his son. John took a deep breath, held Dean’s gaze, and decided to trust himself. One hundred percent honesty between them had served them both well over the last eleven years, and there was no reason to stop now. He saw Dean staring at him, and he braced himself as best he could before he spoke.

“Watching you go through puberty this last year opened my eyes to a few things. You’re growing up, and I thought that if I could get through the year, things would change. I thought coming back here would make it easier on both of us. Dean, since Arkansas, I’ve had … thoughts,” John began, closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself. When he opened them again, Dean’s eyes were the same mossy green color that John had fallen in love with almost five years ago, and there was a light in his expression John couldn’t place.

“Like I said in the car, Dad. It isn’t anything I haven’t already thought of at least a million times. Yeah, I know, I’m eleven years old, and that means I’m not supposed to have an opinion on sex, other than knowing the basics,” Dean held John’s gaze as he spoke. He was stilled at the wisdom and age in his son’s eyes as he continued, “I love you, Dad. Always have, always will. And I’m not talkin’ about just because you’re my Dad. I had the same th-thoughts kinda,” Dean stumbled over the word, “before Arkansas.”

John stared at Dean as he spoke, listening as his son’s voice dropped a register with the reality of his statement. “Before?”

Dean shrugged, turning his face away, and blushed so pretty. “I don’t know that I had the words for it, but yeah. I’ve always known you would protect us from anything, and I had a sorta … I dunno … feelings.”

John didn’t know what to say in response to that, but there was a pride somewhere deep inside the blackness of his soul that started to shine. He reached across the table and took his son’s hand into his own. “Dean, I …,” John wasn’t sure how to respond, but he needed to know Dean understood it wasn’t just fucking. This had always been a problem with Mary, as well. John Winchester could stand toe-to-toe with the nastiest demons and bad shit that came down the road but couldn’t say shit when it meant something. He took a second to put himself together, and then continued, “You aren’t alone. Those same thoughts are part of why I’ve been taking the Impala out every few nights, not to mention ending up on that dirt road this morning. They aren’t the same kind of fatherly thoughts I was having before Cotton Grove, Dean. But, since, every dream I have is you. Sometimes it’s pretty explicit and you’re wearing a fuckload less clothes that you were last night, and others, it’s just you, leaning into that fridge. You watched me last night, and I watched you take off from the door after I came on your underwear. I have never been angry with you, Dean. I have never been mad at you. I’ve spent three months convincing myself that if I avoid you, these feelings I have for you would go away. Dean, I love you because you’re my son, but,” John took another deep breath, “that’s not the only reason.”

He stood from the table, gathered up the remnants of their lunch, and turned to the sink. He didn’t want to risk seeing rejection in those gorgeous green eyes, didn’t want to see if Dean was repulsed by the idea of something more than just sex and fucking. And what kind of monster was he that he was even thinking of those things with his son? But, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of what it would be like; Dean pressed up against John’s side like he had been a few times already, driving down the road to their next hunt. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining Dean on the motel bed, cuddled up against his body, making those annoying huffing noises he always made before he truly fell asleep. An instant after he’d turned towards the counters, he heard Dean’s chair scrape back and Dean’s footfalls on the plank floor. John felt Dean’s small hand on his lower back as he came around to stand between John and the sink.

“It’s not the only reason for me either, Dad.”

The urge to sweep his son up into his arms, find a bedroom, and spend three hours exploring every inch of him, was stronger than anything John had experienced since the fire. It was almost as all-consuming as the rage he’d felt after Mary’s death. Which was the only reason he was able to control himself and not act on it. Instead, he leaned down so he could look Dean in the eyes, and he kissed his son. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but it was a promise between them. Dean’s lips were softer than John had imagined and as plush as the most luxurious fabrics. The surprised twitch of his lips when John ran the tip of his tongue against the seam of Dean’s lips confirmed his inexperience, which only made John’s dick want to get hard again. When Dean’s arms slipped up over John’s shoulders, he compensated by lifting Dean into his arms, one arm around his shoulders with the other under his knees and walking over to the couch. He felt Dean shuddering in his arms, and when he looked, Dean had a flush of pink that ran from his hairline, all the way down to the collar of his shirt. As much as it killed him, John knew they had to stop.

“We can talk more while we practice, but we came up here for a reason, son. And that reas-,”

Dean interrupted, grinning from ear to ear in John’s arms, “Shooting!”

He couldn’t stop the laugh that rolled out of him at Dean’s excited face, and he almost dropped him on the couch. “Yeah, Dean, let’s go put some holes in some shit.”

##

“He’s a good shot, Bobby. Handled my .45 like he’d been doing it all his life,” John was saying to the other man as they sat in the garage the following day, drinking a few beers and tinkering with a few projects. It was Sunday, and the boys would be going back to school in the morning, so it was a chance just to relax. Of course, because John Winchester was a dirty man, he immediately thought of another way that could be taken, though he was careful not to give any hint of that away in his expression.

“Whatever it was goin’ between you taken care of?”

John thought for a moment and nodded his head. “I had to stop thinking like his father and start thinking like his trainer,” _oh that’s another one_ , he thought to himself as he continued to speak, “I think we’ll be okay from here out. How’d Sammy do?” Bobby looked up from where he was wrenching on something John didn’t recognize, and the man was grinning.

“He catches on quick. You might want to consider buyin’ him a Mister Fluffers of his own before too long,” Bobby commented, which sent both men into hysterical laughter that brought both Dean and Sammy out to the garage.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think one, maybe two chapters and I promise, this will be done.  
> For now.  
> #Albert

The weeks following their first visit to the cabin were some of the best Dean could remember. Dad was back to himself with the jokes and the laughter that didn’t sound forced. Dad had come out to the garage and Dean could see the pride in his father’s eyes as he looked over Dean’s notes for the Chevelle, which was almost three-quarters disassembled. When Dad pulled him into a hug, those strong arms had wrapped around Dean, and he’d inhaled deeply. Dad had chuckled, and the vibration went straight through Dean’s body. They each found excuses to touch each other, though both were careful to never touch in any other way than a father and son, and it made the wait between visits to the cabin tolerable. Dean was good with a gun, according to Dad, and he’d been allowed to fire blanks at a target using Dad’s .45 with “awesome” success. He loved the time spent with his father at the cabin, but he also liked the quiet time they had together at the cabin. His favorites were the times he and Dad were sitting on the couch, and he could curl up against his father’s right side. They’d watch television for a while, Dad’s hand rubbing against Dean’s shoulder, or sometimes his chest. Sometimes Dean would take the initiative to lean closer and purposefully let his tongue accidentally graze his father’s nipple, which brought an instantaneous response. Sometimes Dad would want to watch him, and other times, Dad would do it for him. The afternoon he’d spent learning how Dad liked his cock stroked had been educational and exciting. Dean was slightly embarrassed to admit he’d cum in his jeans while he was gripping his father’s cock and stroking with long, deliberate strokes from the base, up over the head, and then back down again; just like Dad taught him. Dad, however, had been so shocked when he realized what happened, he’d orgasmed hard in Dean’s hand. It was a sensation Dean would never forget, as long as he lived.

Now it was mid-December, a few days away from Dad's birthday, and they were stranded at the cabin. A blizzard that had been forecast to miss them changed direction at the last minute and was currently dumping heavy, wet snow across South Dakota. They’d rushed into the house with the first snowflake, hurried through their clean-up, but it had been too late. By the time they had everything ready, the Impala was already covered at least an inch deep. Neither wanted to risk the drive to Bobby’s, so they’d gone back into the cabin and Dad had called.

“Bobby?”

“You guys okay?” Bobby sounded worried. Dad winked at Dean, who bit his lip to keep from giggling.

“Yeah, we’re okay up here. But the snow is comin’ down pretty hard. I don’t want to risk-,” Dad began to speak at the same time Bobby began.

“You stay put. The roads down here are alre-,”

“That’s the plan, old man. We have the staples up here as far as food is concerned, plenty of room to sleep, at least ten full cord of wood, and a deck of cards. What else could we possibly need?” Dean didn’t miss the look on Dad’s face when he looked right at him. In an instant, Dean was scurrying upstairs to take a warm shower, an idea planted in his head.

While Dad continued talking to Bobby, Dean stripped out of his clothes, put them away, and quickly washed every square inch of his body. His cock was hard with the thought of what he was going to do, but he knew there wouldn’t be a better time. He and Dad were careful at home; neither wanted the other two members of their household guessing what was going on. But here, at the cabin, they were able to be a little more open with one another, and that was something Dean planned on taking full advantage of. He’d decided not too many days ago that he was ready to have sex with his father (gah, don’t touch it. Don’t ruin it by cumming now) but he didn’t know how Dad would take it. So Dean devised ‘a plan’ to accomplish his goal. Now, knowing they’d be stuck here at least a day or two, Dean put his plan into action.

After his shower, he’d dried himself with the towel, and waited to hear Dad end the call with Bobby. Once he was sure Dad was no longer talking on the phone, he started down the stairs, but stopped when he heard the front door open and close. He moved more slowly, avoiding the spongy steps so they wouldn’t creak, and finally came to stand at the bottom of the landing. His quick glance around the room showed Dad was nowhere in the cabin, but his jacket was also missing; Dean assumed he was going to get more wood for the fireplace. He smirked to himself, crouched in front of the hearthstone, and began to build the fire that would keep the entire cabin warm for the next few days. Once the fire was cheerfully crackling, he moved over to the couch to wait.

##

John knew the storm was coming, may have used a tiny bit of spell work he’d found in Bobby’s books to bring the blizzard over Sioux Falls. He brought Dean up to the cabin with the small hope that they’d be snowed in, and sure enough, when the first fat snowflake fell, John had smiled. Dean had gone into the house with him, moving through the cabin to remove any trace of their stay (a good habit for a Hunter to develop). He couldn’t help but notice his son wasn’t rushing any faster than he was. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place for John; this would be their weekend. This would be the weekend he would finally see his boy with his lips wrapped around John’s cock. He’d been dreaming about it for weeks, wanting to taste Dean’s cock as much as he wanted to breathe, and this would be the perfect opportunity. When they walked out onto the front porch, saw the Impala already too buried to risk driving, John had gone inside and called Bobby on the landline.

He saw Dean disappear upstairs, a light in his face that spelled trouble. When he finished his call with Bobby, he noticed they would probably want to bring more wood in for the night, so they wouldn’t run out and have to go out in the height of the blizzard. John carefully loaded half a cord of wood into the cart and pulled it behind him up the ramp leading to the front door. When he entered the cabin, he was greeted with the aroma of a fresh fire and the warmth of the cabin itself.

“Thanks, son. I appreciate you getting the fire star-,” John Winchester lost the ability to speak. For the second time.

Dean was stretched out on the couch, slowly stroking his already hard cock, and he was as naked as he’d ever been. His skin was slightly pink from the shower, and John watched as the head of his son’s cock started to deepen into a dark pink. Instantly, his own cock was screaming to be released from his jeans and his mouth filled with saliva at the thought of that gorgeous shaft sliding over his lips. He knew he should be doing something right now, but he couldn’t get himself to act on anything. Dean’s long fingers were delicate as they moved up and down, curling around his shaft the way John did when he was jerking him off, and he made a soft mewling noise under his breath as his eyes met Johns. His eyes were bottle green, shining as brilliantly as a shard of glass on the blacktop at the height of summer, and his lips were swollen from his nibbling them.

John lost the ability to think when Dean looked up at him and his voice, a deeper register than even normal, filtered into his ears.

“Daddy, please?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I was prepared for end scene smut.  
> Albert, however, had other ideas.

John covered the distance between the door and the couch with three strides, dropping his clothes along the way. He stood beside the couch, looking down at Dean as he stroked his cock the way John taught him, which made his cock thicken painfully.

“So beautiful, baby boy. What do you want? Tell me. Tell Daddy what you want,” John crouched down as he spoke, running his hand through Dean’s soft hair as he whispered in his ear. He was close enough he could smell Dean; could taste him at the back of his throat with every breath. He wanted to stroke his cock but knew he wanted this to last. He had the perfect opportunity to have Dean to himself for at least a day or two. He watched Dean’s chest rising and falling with every breath, saw the light sheen of sweat that coated every inch of his body, and needed to taste him as badly as he needed oxygen to breathe. He reached for Dean’s hand and pulled it away from his cock, grinning at the protest Dean put up.

“You have to tell me what you want, Dean. I want to hear you. I need to hear you say it,” John whispered in Dean’s ear, nosing against the small hairs at the back of his neck. His boy smelled fucking delicious; it was the only way he could describe it. He nipped at his shoulder, feeling Dean’s hips jerk up in response, and imagined what that would feel like if he were straddling John.

“Daddy. Please, Daddy? I don-n’t know wha-whatt. Please?” Dean’s voice raised in pitch, but became coarse, like he had gravel in his throat. The pleading tone had John clamping his hand around his own erection to stave off his orgasm. The innocence in Dean’s phrase combined with the sexy sound was fast undoing John’s control. He wanted this to last and to make it a positive experience, so he was determined to take his time. So he waited for a beat, watching Dean’s body writhing against the couch cushions.

“Tell Daddy, baby boy. My brave Hunter, my gorgeous boy, so sweet for me. Always so good for Daddy, aren’t you?” John watched as Dean’s cock spontaneously erupted, his cum spattering against John’s hand as much as Dean’s stomach. Within an instant, Dean’s entire body was flush red with embarrassment.

“I-I’m so-,” Dean began, but John leaned forward and kissed him, pressing him back down against the cushion and using the leverage to work Dean’s lips apart with his tongue. He’d never been more turned on than this moment, and he needed Dean to feel what he’d done for him. His tongue slid into Dean’s mouth, and he licked at the backs of his teeth before curling his tongue against Dean’s and pulling it into his mouth, sucking slow and easy. He was still holding Dean’s hand in his, though he’d switched to interlocking their fingers instead of just his palm, and it rested against Dean’s chest while his other was beside Dean’s head, keeping John’s balance. Dean’s breathing became even more ragged as he learned to breathe through his nose as they kissed and John could feel his son’s heart slamming in his chest. He remained like that for a few minutes, resting against Dean so he could focus on something and come down a little. He kissed him randomly; gentle presses of his lips to Dean’s sweaty flesh. After a few minutes, Dean stirred a little and John looked up, smiling. Dean’s face was clear and his smile was that same lazy grin he used to have first thing in the morning when he’d been Sammy’s age.

“Never apologize for that, Dean. Never think you have to apologize for anything we do here. There is nothing you could do that I would need you to apologize for, short of trying to dutch oven me at night,” John winked as he said the last, feeling Dean relax slightly with the joke. He looked up at John, his eyes still that same mossy green, and despite the blush that turned his face scarlet, his smile was wider than ever.

“Trying? Dad, please. You and I both know I don’t have to try that hard to dutch oven you. All I gotta do is feed Sammy Fruity Pebbles and ask you to drive him to school.”

John gaped at Dean for a moment before roaring with laughter as he picked him up from the couch and carried him upstairs.

“So noted. I had no idea you were so devious. Now I’ll have to watch my ass around you. Come on, let’s get in the shower, clean up a little, and see what’s on the television.”

Dean had pressed his face up against the side of John’s neck, and he felt him place a soft, dry kiss against his shoulder, which reminded him he still had a screaming hard cock. He carried Dean up the stairs and walked to the main bedroom, with its adjoining bathroom. At least now, they could take a shower at the same temperature.

##

Dean couldn’t think beyond the sensations flowing across every inch of his body. Dad was everywhere, surrounding him and protecting him, teaching and loving him. His voice lit a fire in his stomach, and every time he spoke, that fire spread a little more out of control. When he stopped speaking, Dean pleaded, begging for him to keep talking. He could feel each syllable like a physical touch, igniting more and more of him until he gave into it. When Dad said he was good for Daddy, Dean’s brain whited out with pleasure, and he’d felt his orgasm as deeply as though Daddy had been stroking him through it. He felt like he was floating inside the warmest, safest blanket in the world, which eventually turned out to be Dad, kissing him while he was pressed up against Dean’s side. As he came back to himself, his whole body felt lazy and heavy, so he was grateful Dad picked him up and he could breathe in his father’s scent, kissing him wherever he could as the heavy feeling started to fade.

When Dad put him down, he was more awake then he’d been on the couch, and he turned to smile up at his father from the side of the bed. His eyes, however, didn’t get much past the angle of his father’s hard, throbbing cock between his legs. An idea came to him; something he’d thought about and had done a little research into. He knew Dad would move in a second, so he leaned forward and wrapped his hand around Dad’s cock. Instead of stroking it, however, he brought the tip to his mouth and rubbed the head over his lips, and he heard Dad growl loud enough that it kinda startled him. He opened his mouth in surprise, and when the tip slid past, his tongue brushed against his father’s cock. The growl was deeper this time, and he felt his father adjusting his position, so he followed with his mouth, making sure not to break contact with either his mouth or his hand until Dad stopped moving.

“Baby boy, look at me. Let me see you,” Dad’s voice was almost more growl than actual words. Dean tilted his face up so that he could see Dad’s face and he smiled for him, with the head of his dick against Dean’s lower lip. Dad bit his lower lip as he looked down at Dean and he felt Dad’s cock expand on his skin just before a drop of precum leaked out and slid onto Dean’s tongue. At first, it didn’t have a taste, but then a bittersweet flavor coated his mouth, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He rolled it across his tongue a few times, trying to decide, and realized it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t awful either. Like a gas station burger; it wasn’t bad in a pinch, but you didn’t go looking for it when you had other options either. He stroked his hand experimentally up Dad’s shaft, just the way he’d been taught, and Dad’s growl was a constant noise. Their eyes were staring into one another, and Dean tried to show his Dad how much he loved him, how much bigger it was than just Dad. His hand stroked back down to the base of Dad’s cock, and he twisted his palm a little before sliding back up. Dad gasped out loud, and his hips jerked forward. With that, half the head of his dick was suddenly resting against Dean’s tongue as it pressed past his lips.

“Jesus fuck baby boy. Your mouth. Perfect,” Dad gasped out as he yanked his hips back suddenly and his cum splashed against Dean’s chest. Dean reached forward and wrapped his hand around his Dad’s cock while he came, stroking back near his balls (he’d never say it out loud, but part of what he thought was sexy about his Dad were the silky hairs between his legs). Dad’s breathing was coming in short, sharp pants and he had one hand behind Dean’s head and the other working the head of his shaft through every stripe. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Dad got control of himself again. He knelt so he was eye to eye with Dean, who’d maneuvered himself around so that he was half sloped on the mattress between Dad’s thighs, and helped Dean up onto the bed.

“Dean, I do believe you are going to be the death of me. Baby boy, that was fantastic. I suppose you will chalk this up to research, too?”

“Yep.”

“Come on Encyclopedia Brown, lets shower.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

Dean smiled and followed his father into the shower where they spent time washing every inch of each other’s bodies. When Dad pulled him close and hugged him as they got out of the shower, he’d looked up and saw all the emotion he’d been trying to show shining right back at him.


	13. Chapter 13

When John sat down at the table for dinner, the warming aroma of spice had cleared his sinuses for him. At first, he thought it was just because of the concentration of Dean having cooked in the same room they were eating, but he quickly found that wasn’t the case. His first bite into the thinly sliced beef sitting on a pile of still-crispy carrots and celery lit his tongue on fire, following quickly by his entire upper body. He looked closer at the dish and saw the distinct bright color of red chilies mixed in with the vegetables, with some flakes clinging to the steak itself. He choked a little at first, but after the initial burn, he realized the beef flavor was stronger than he’d ever eaten and the vegetables were a bit sweet. After the initial inferno, the taste of the dish amplified, and John ended up helping himself to a second serving before his son finished his first. After they ate, John cleared the plates, and Dean surprised him with peach crumble that was just sweet enough to cut through the heat that lingered on his tongue. A little vanilla ice cream on top of the crumble soothed everything down, and they carried their dessert into the living room to watch a movie for a while. The sun had set a while ago, and when John glanced out the window to check on the storm, he saw the yard (including the Impala) was a landscape of white and grey in the moonlight. The snow was still coming down, heavy and wet, and John worried for a moment he’d overdone it with the spell. Too late to do anything about it now, he turned back to the television and flipped through a few channels before settling on America’s Most Wanted on Fox. Like most Hunters, John was always careful of how much attention he drew in any city and used the popular show to make sure he didn’t leave any evidence behind.

“You gonna tell me what I just ate?”

“Dry fried spicy beef,” Dean said, smiling widely. “I saw the recipe at home and wanted to try it. I’m just glad I remembered everything.”

“Is it supposed to make me feel like my face is melting off?”

Dean’s answer was a laugh that filled the entire cabin. “Hey, at least the ice cream makes it better, right?”

“Never knew steak could be weaponized,” John winked as he teased Dean.

“Wait til breakfast,” Dean teased right back as he took another large bite of the crumble before returning to his place against John’s side, head resting against his chest. John’s arm curled around his shoulders, and he shifted slightly so they would both be more comfortable, attention caught by the television show. Once Most Wanted was over, Dean asked to flip the channel to NBC so they could watch a remake of the old soap opera Dark Shadows. They spent the better part of an hour talking about what the show got wrong and laughing at the ridiculousness of Barnabus Collins’ portrayal of being a vampire.

At eleven o’clock, John tuned into the local news station to get an idea of the strength of the storm, and when he glanced down at Dean to say something about maybe being stuck here all weekend, he found his son sound asleep against his chest. He was thankful he’d had the forethought to bring a few logs and some kindling upstairs to the main bedroom while Dean was cooking, so he didn’t have to worry about bringing both the wood and Dean upstairs at the same time. He chuckled to himself as tried, and failed, to maneuver himself so that Dean wouldn’t be disturbed when he got up. Those brilliant green eyes, cloudy with sleep, peered up at him as he shifted just before Dean straightened out and stood by the stairs.

“Hang on, kiddo. I gotta get this fire banked,” John said as he walked over to the hearth. Ten minutes later, he scooped Dean up in his arms in much the same fashion as he had that afternoon, and carried him upstairs. For a moment, he worried that Dean wouldn’t want to share a bed with him, but he was proven wrong when Dean protested being brought to a secondary bedroom.

“Slee’ wi’ you,” came the slurring protest, accompanied by Dean snuggling closer to his chest, and John turned to the main bedroom.

Once in the room, John made quick work of stripping them both and getting Dean into bed before he turned to the wood burning stove to make sure they were warm overnight, in case the power went out. Once the fire was burning merrily, John closed the door and climbed up into bed next to his son. Less than a minute later, Dean was curled around John’s body in much the same way he caged Sammy in their bed. The instinct to protect ran through Dean, even overtaking his subconscious. John took a moment to mourn the “normal” childhood Dean would have had if Mary hadn’t been murdered.

“Ti’ed,” Dean mumbled, half asleep, and John tried to decipher what he meant. He had no clue until Dean spoke again, “G’sleep. Nigh.”

John chuckled a moment, rolled his body so that HE was caging Dean instead of the other way around, and drifted into a peaceful sleep barely five minutes later.


	14. Chapter 14

Weak sunlight was coming through the windows when Dean woke up. He was instantly aware that he was in bed with Dad, their bodies tangled together under the covers, and they were pressed so close together that every breath Dad took breezed across Dean’s face. Unsure of how early it was, Dean began to slip out of Dad’s grip so he could get his day started, and was almost free when Dad yanked him back and rolled over, so Dean was trapped against him. He felt Dad chuckling above him.

“I’m a bit more aware of my surroundings than your little brother.”

“Heavier too,” Dean teased, wriggling himself out from his father’s grasp by shimmying down the length of his body instead of trying to break free. Once he was standing free of the mattress, he smirked at his father and made his way to the bathroom to take care of his morning ritual. The room itself wasn’t as toasty as the bedroom, but Dean attributed that to … oh crap.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Dean?” He could hear his father throwing the covers back as soon as he called out.

“I think we lost power overnight,” he called back, his hand flipping the light switch once more, just to be sure.

“Yeah figured we might. The snow was supposed to come down all night, and it’s the kind that drops power lines. I’ll go get the fire started downstairs.”

As Dean looked over his shoulder, he saw Dad grab a pair of pants from the drawer before disappearing into the hallway. A string of curses followed Dad’s descent, each vividly describing exactly how he felt about the near frigid temperature of the first floor and his opinion on carpeting. Dean laughed as he took care of his bladder with the bathroom door open to get a little more light in the room, and then joined his father on the first floor. He found Dad crouched in front of the hearth, checking the coals to ensure the fire would catch again and cleaning up some of the ash.

##

Dad kept the radio tuned to the weather all day as they continued their training, though a different style than with weapons considering they were snowed in. While they’d been eating breakfast (Dean had spied a cast iron skillet in a cabinet and had cooked in the hearth), Dean heard the weather people saying the storm was starting to crawl away and that a record twenty-seven inches of snow had fallen in the previous twenty-four hours. So, when he stood up to bring the plates into the kitchen, Dean glanced outside at the front yard and called his father over. The yard was almost blinding to look at because of the sunlight reflecting from the surface, and the only way he could tell where the Impala was is because it was the tallest lump. The snow had piled halfway up the doors, and Dean was not looking forward to having to shovel that out, but that wasn’t what had his attention. Beyond the edge of the yard, like the world just split in half, the road was as black as it had been yesterday. It wasn’t plowed or shoveled, there were no marks of any kind, but it appeared to be down to the pavement, which seemed dry from this distance.

“It’d probably take about thirty minutes to walk from here to the road,” Dean observed.

“It’d take you about twenty, me about forty. You’re lighter than I am so you wouldn’t sink as deep. Why?”

He knew Dad was testing him, and he took pride in showing off a little. “We’re stuck out here. If somethin’ bad happened, it’s good to know there’s a way out. Everythin’ is right here in this room that we’d need to take with us.”

“Smart. How would you get out of the cabin?”

“Upstairs, the back bedroom has a door that leads out to the roof of the porch, which is sloped enough that you can walk on it, but snow will slide off if it gets too high. Any window because they all open out.”

“Just like I said before, Dean. You are one hell of a Hunter. Maybe next year, after you get a little more training and learn to protect yourself, you can help me out on a few simple salt and burns. What do you think?” Dad was looking down at him, and his broad smile made everything inside Dean melt. He was pretty sure his face was going to crack from the smile that broke out as soon as Dad mentioned going on a hunt.

“That would be awesome, Dad! Bobby was talking to a Hunter a few weeks ago, and he sent him on a hunt over in Sioux City. That’s only an hour away so Sammy could stay with Bobby, and he wouldn’t be alone. You think Bobby would be okay with it?” If there was one salt and burn, there was bound to be more. He couldn’t wait, and he really hoped Bobby wouldn’t mind.

“Whoa, slow down there. You have to train and learn to protect yourself before we do this. We can hold off on tellin’ Bobby for now.”

“Funny you should say that, Dad,” Dean began, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, “I … uh … sorta started that without you.” When he felt his father’s question in the way he looked at him, Dean confessed to having started learning about actual fighting from Henry.

Dad called Bobby to check in and was informed they were fine. Dean talked to Sammy for a few minutes and got to hear all about the snowman he was planning to build once Bobby let him go outside. Dean assured his little brother he was fine and promised to call later before he handed the phone back to Dad and finished washing the dishes in water so cold it made his hands hurt. After that, he asked Dad to put a huge stockpot he’d found and filled with water by the fireplace.

“You feel like showin’ me what you know so far?” Dad had asked, and that led to the Winchesters spending the morning mock sparring, with Dad helping to improve Dean’s form and teach him how to improvise. He liked sparring with Dad way better than with Henry, mostly because Dad pulled his punches. Henry either hadn’t developed that skill yet or just ignored it. When he told Dad that, he’d actually said it was better that way. Dean was not going to tell her that.

The afternoon was spent outside, wading through the snow to beat a path to the car, target practice with snowballs, and at least partially clearing the windshield and rear window of the Impala. The snow was heavier than Dean expected, and soon enough he was getting tired. Dad told him to get up on the porch and rest while he finished getting the trunk cleared, and he sat on the top step with his head leaning against the porch railing. He didn’t fall asleep, but he did take a little nap while he waited.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and we're done.

John hadn’t been surprised when the road leading off the property was clear, but the sheer amount of snow that had fallen shocked him. The Impala was up to her windows with no room around her, and the storm very quickly went from manageable to immovable from what he could guess in the drifts. He assumed that, much like the road, the cabin itself was enspelled in some way because the snow didn’t land on the porch very much. It drifted, as though it was brought by the wind, and there was barely a dusting. Something John was very grateful for because he dreaded having to do that this morning. The rest of the morning had been shocking, as Dean showed an affinity and adaptability for fighting hand to hand and starting to pick up on what weapons could be grabbed from what was around him. While they’d been sparring, the snow had tapered enough he thought they could get a path stamped down to the car, at least. John wanted that snow off the windshield before it got too heavy and cracked the window underneath. Watching Dean smiling and laughing as he made snowballs and hit eight out of his ten targets, only caused more pride to ring through his body. He’d probably end up talking to Bobby about it sooner rather than later. Both his boys picked up quick, Sammy’s own accuracy with hitting targets was around seventy percent already, and Dean was as comfortable with a gun as he was a blade.

He carried Dean inside once the car was clean and put him down on the couch. He stripped them both of their wet clothes, wrapped Dean in a blanket from the shelf beside the fireplace so he’d be warm, and went upstairs to hang their clothes around the woodburning stove, which he refreshed with a new log. His eye caught on the bed they’d slept in, and he ran his hand along the side of the bed that had been Dean’s, remembering how he’d felt when they’d been falling asleep. Like he belonged there and had just been waiting for John to catch on. He hadn’t missed the glow Dean had worn as he mentioned taking him on a hunt, impressed that his first thought was how to take care of Sammy while they were gone. John hadn’t even gotten there yet, but Dean was a few steps ahead for his baby brother. Bobby was right. They were Winchesters. And in the end, that bond superseded anything else. He went into the closet and brought his other duffel down from the shelf; this one less of a survival bag. He placed it on the bed and removed a few items that he knew he would need, should their night went that way. Lube, medical gloves, and condoms all went into the nightstand on John’s side of the bed (Christ, did he really have a _side_ to the bed, now?), and the duffel was returned to the shelf.

Back downstairs, John brewed a fresh pot of coffee in the fire and took down one of the books stored against one wall. While Dean napped, John lost himself in the lore of the Leshy, some kind of Slavic creature that led travelers astray in forests. The Leshy also kidnapped children to share with Chort, a sort of Slavic crossroads demon. He was just getting to how to kill them when Dean came awake in a blink. He sat up, pushed the blanket off, and reached for a mug for the coffee. Apparently, before he realized he was completely naked, just like his father. John roared with laughter when Dean rabbited back under the blanket and wrapped it around himself.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Upstairs. I took them off you so I could dry ‘em with the stove upstairs and you wouldn’t get sick. Same as my clothes.”

“Whatcha readin’?”

They passed the time back and forth for a few minutes, and Dean was just asking about dinner when he heard a beep that signaled the power was back on. Neither of them moved from their spots, no rush to come back to the real world for a few minutes. While he went upstairs to check on their clothes, he found them still too damp, but he needed to have something for them to wear if they were making dinner. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants for himself and a t-shirt for Dean. He didn’t have anything Dean could wear on his legs, but the shirt would at least protect him to his knees; it was a heavy material, and John vaguely recalled it was one of his old Marine shirts.

“Here, kiddo put this on,” he called out to Dean as he came around the couch, throwing the shirt in his direction. “Your stuff is still too damp.”

Dean grabbed the shirt, pulled it over his head, and stood up. It was about there that John felt like he was right back in Cotton Grove, Arkansas and he was seeing his son for the first time. The shirt was Marine green; meaning it was somewhere between brown, orange, green, and puke yellow. The collar had a few holes in it and was sagged out of shape by age, so it exposed quite a bit of Dean’s neck and shoulders as he swam inside the material. A few paint stains, a couple of questionably jagged cuts, and a bullet hole through the left sleeve didn’t phase him. It was what was on the front of the shirt that had John desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In big, block letters across his son’s chest:

**PROPERTY**

**OF**

**UNITED STATES MARINES**

The growl that came from somewhere down near his knees almost escaped his lips before he got control of himself again.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Dean was surprised they made it through dinner. The growl Dad let loose when he had first put his shirt on went straight down to Dean’s cock, and he’d had to bite his cheek to keep from throwing himself into his father’s arms. The shirt wasn’t just heavy and comfortable; it was also a declaration. He’d been trying since they’d first started coming up here to show Dad how he felt, and this shirt said everything. He’d smiled widely at his father before he turned toward the kitchen and announced he was going to get dinner started.

“If you put the grate back over the fire, I have a couple of steaks we can make for dinner,” Dean offered, hoping Dad wouldn’t insist on going back to using the electricity.

“I’ll grab some potatoes from the cellar if you wanna bring out a couple of pieces of foil,” Dad answered with a grin that showed off both dimples. A second later Dad lifted Dean into his arms so that his legs wrapped around his father’s waist and Dad’s hands were under his ass.

He leaned into his father’s embrace, brought his hands to either side of Dad’s face and pressed their lips together. The stubble on Dad’s face tickled Dean’s lips and he grinned as he rubbed his face against the sensation. One of Dad’s hands came up and straightened his face so their mouths could come back together, the lick of Dad’s tongue opened his lips, and he soon found himself lightheaded in Dad’s arms. Their kiss continued, tongues sliding from one mouth to the other, tasting one another and making a promise without words. He was panting between each kiss, and his thighs squeezed around Dad’s waist, which rolled his hips up and down. From the angle Dad was holding him at, their cocks were rubbing against each other through both Dean’s t-shirt and the sweatpants Dad was wearing. It was like touching a live wire, and he wanted more, though he didn’t know what ‘more’ involved. He couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him as he felt his father’s hands massaging and squeezing his ass cheeks each time he pulled himself up on his father’s body; nor could he stop it when he sank back down, and Dad’s hands held his cheeks wide open.

“Food, Dean. We need food,” Dad’s voice was hoarse as he pulled back from the kiss. His eyes were black as his pupils had expanded through the iris, and his breathing was just as ragged.

“Food. Sure. Steak,” Dean’s voice wasn’t much better. He leaned in to kiss his father more, wanting the feeling of his lips against his own again. Dad chuckled as he bent his head away.

“I think this might be the only time you ever didn’t register I suggested food.”

“Got somethin’ better to put my mouth on.”

Dad stopped, and the mood changed. Dean felt it, and he turned to look Dad in the eye.

“You know it’s more than that, Dean, don’t you?”

“No chick moments, Dad,” Dean paused to smile before he continued with a more serious tone of voice, “and of course I know it’s more, but that don’t mean I can’t tell ya I like kissin’ you.”

Father and son both chuckled at the “chick moment” comment, and Dean slid down his father’s body. “Okay, since you insist on making me eat, go get the potatoes.”

When he was turning into the kitchen, he heard Dad use the electricity for one thing; he turned on the radio and tuned into the local classic rock station where Bob Seger was singing about Old Time Rock n Roll. Dean went through the kitchen gathering everything he would need, from the dried herbs for the butter to a pair of venison porterhouses. He grabbed the skillets from the pantry before he brought everything back to the hearth, and began to lay everything out. When Dad came back, Dean put everything together and put the potatoes over the fire to start cooking, carefully timing when the steaks went into the skillets. Forty minutes after he put the skillets into the flame, the two of them were side by side on the couch, eating.

“I will never again question Bobby buying fifty new cookbooks every time I tell him we’re coming his way,” Dad said after his first bite, and Dean laughed.

“This one you can thank on Aunt Ellen. She taught me how to cook t-bones and porterhouses last year when you were hunting the Rakshasa.”

“Whoever is to thank, you were the one that cooked the steak. And this is easily the best damn steak I have ever eaten, Dean,” Dad commented as he slathered another bit of herb butter on the cut he’d speared with his fork.

Dean blushed and felt his half-hard dick twitch to life with the praise. He cleared his throat and took another bite of steak before he answered, “You’re welcome.”

##

Watching his son disappear into the kitchen after having held him so close was the hardest thing John Winchester ever did. He wanted nothing more than to take Dean upstairs and finally satisfy his curiosity as to what that boy’s ass would taste like against his mouth. Thankfully his common sense kicked in, and he turned toward the cellar instead of the kitchen. Steak sounded good, especially cooked over an open flame, and there would be plenty of time later to explore. And he was man enough to admit that when he saw the porterhouses in the cast iron, he’d been skeptical; it was a hard cut of steak to cook for even experienced cooks. He watched Dean over the top of the book he was reading, impressed by how he dressed the steak, roasted the potatoes, and eventually delivered one of the best-damned meals John ever had in his mouth. He also didn’t miss the twitch in Dean’s cock when he told him such. John had been forming an idea in his head, especially since Dean had cum so beautifully yesterday.

After they finished eating, and the cleanup seen to, John stretched out on the couch in front of the fire and turned the television to the local news. The storm had finally passed, clean-up crews were traversing the main roads, but the state officials asked everyone to stay off the streets for a few days while the plows worked their way through to the smaller side roads. School had been called off (Dean whooped with that announcement), and the phone rang almost immediately. Before he could reach for it, Dean draped himself across John’s chest and picked up the handset.

“Hey, Bobby.”

John heard Bobby’s voice responding, but couldn’t make out what he’d said.

“No, we’re okay. We lost power for a couple hours, but it came back on about two hours ago. Yeah,” Dean paused, listening, “we’re good. Hang on, here’s Dad.”

John took the phone from Dean, who climbed off John’s chest and settled against his side. “Yeah?”

“Just checkin’ to make sure you knew there ain’t no school tomorrow and to stay put.”

“Oh, believe me, we aren’t goin’ nowhere. The road’s clear, like always, but we can’t get out the driveway. The car’s buried up to the windows, and we managed to clear the windshield and rear window earlier today. Probably gonna take a couple days to get free.”

“You take your time. Sounds like you and Dean are back to normal and I’m glad to hear it. Spendin’ time together and figurin’ out what you both needed does wonders for ya.”

For a moment, John was suspicious Bobby knew exactly what was going on, but he dismissed it; Bobby would never understand being in love with his own blood.

“Me n’ Sammy are entertainin’ ourselves down here, though I will tell you, I miss Dean’s cookin’. You’re probably getting treated like a fatted calf.”

“Well, now that you mention it, Dean did make the best damn porterhouse I’ve ever tasted tonight. But last night, he tried to cook my face off.” John didn’t appreciate the wheezing laughter Bobby let out; especially when it lasted almost five full minutes though he was laughing right along with the other Hunter.

He and Bobby talked for a few minutes, and then he handed the phone over to Dean so that he could talk to Sammy. While his sons spoke, John went upstairs to take a hot shower. He’d just stripped himself naked when he felt Dean behind him. When John turned, Dean was standing at the entrance to the bathroom as naked as the day he was born. His cock was hard, bouncing a double-beat in time with his heart, and his face was flush with what John could only call want.

“How’s Sammy?”

“Fine. He wants to show me the snowman he and Bobby built today. He said he measured it seven feet tall and when I asked, he said Bobby put him on his shoulders to get the head on straight. I told him I’d talk to him tomorrow and we’d maybe be home on Wednesday.”

“Wednesday, huh? Road’s will be clear by tomorrow night, you know.”

“I know that. Sammy and Bobby don’t.”

The look on Dean’s face broke the last of John’s resistance. He closed the distance between them in a single step, and he pulled his son under the spray of water. “Sounds to me like you got plans, Dean.”

Those green eyes would be the end of John, and he knew it. Clear and bright, Dean’s eyes telegraphed his emotion better than anything John had ever seen.

“I do.”

Their lips came together as the water cascaded over both their bodies, washing away the grime that came with sweating inside layers of clothing. John took his time scrubbing every inch of both of their bodies, which included between Dean’s ass cheeks, and his mouth practically watered with anticipation.

Tonight, John Winchester was going to make love to his son.


End file.
